Little Lies
by smc-27
Summary: Puck needs a favour from a Jewish girl. Not that kind of favour. All he needs is someone to help him convince his mom he's dating a Jew. That's where Rachel comes in. Totally AU. Set in college.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Another one that was meant to be a oneshot. I get carried away. It's five chapters long. It's AU, so there's not much you need to know; it'll all be explained.

Enjoy? Let me know!

* * *

You'd think that a guy with a body like a god, a face women love, and a personality like sandpaper (someone told him that once, that at first, it's all abrasive, then once it rubs against you enough, it's all smooth and nice; he'll take it) would have a pretty sweet lot in life.

Okay, so it's not like he's got a lot to complain about. He's got a full ride to OSU for music, which is something he's just always been naturally good at. He's got his own place off campus, because when his deadbeat dad's way more awesome sister died, she left all her money and property to her only living relatives - Puck and his little sister - which gave him enough cash to live on his own. He's got a sweet part time job at the record store on campus (he gets paid to listen to new music and alphabetize). He can have any girl he wants, basically.

His life hasn't really been easy, though. Aforementioned deadbeat dad split when Puck was 9, which wasn't an easy thing. Try having your mom cry herself to sleep every night for a year and be too young and too naive to do anything about it. High school was a breeze, until his senior year when he realized he was way fucking behind in, oh, all his classes (what? he'd been slacking forever because high school is total bullshit). He'd had to literally work his ass off to even graduate, let alone get a scholarship, which was the only way he'd be able to go to college. (Awesome aunt hadn't kicked it yet at that point.)

And he'd joined the school's band of loser misfits just so he could have an extracurricular related to the field he wanted to study.

The fucking_ glee club_.

And here's the thing; it wasn't terrible. Actually, when it wasn't busy sucking ass, it was pretty awesome. They were twelve loser kids (really, they were all losers, even himself some days) from all different 'walks of life,' as Mr. Schue used to say, who came together three days a week and sang. Puck's best friend was male lead, and Finn's girlfriend was female lead.

Likely story, huh?

When he graduated, he couldn't fucking wait to get out of Lima. The way he saw it, the people who stayed in Lima after high school were losers, destined for nothingness. He didn't roll that way. He was better than that place and always had been.

Finn and Quinn went off to North Carolina (NCSU, and Finn thought it was awesome that it was _'kinda like NCIS!'_) where Finn was recruited to play football and Quinn got an academic scholarship. The rest of their little club were off to god knows where. Puck didn't necessarily care about the people who weren't his friends before he joined that shit. Matt and Mike both went to school in California, and Brittany and Santana were off to New York for...whatever.

Now he's a junior, and he's 21, and his mom is absolutely riding his ass about finding a wife.

What. The. Fuck.

He's _21_! He's supposed to be sleeping around. (And whatever. He sleeps around less now than he did in high school, but that's not the point.) The point is, he's too young for a goddamn ball and chain, and she doesn't seem to appreciate it when he tells her so.

He doesn't understand why she doesn't get that he doesn't want to settle down.

When she calls him one night, berating him about how he never comes home to visit anymore, he tells her he'll take a weekend in a couple weeks' time and drive out to Lima.

When she starts busting his balls about Jewish women and_ 'aren't there any nice young Jews at that school of yours?' _he gets so fucking annoyed that he tells her that yeah, he's seeing a girl. A Jew.

She drops the phone.

He ends the call and thinks he might have to kick _his own _ass.

What the fuck has he just done?

* * *

As Rachel gathers her things, notebooks and texts for the day, she wonders how in the world she's living like this.

You see, most mornings, she's got to tiptoe out of the apartment or at least plug her ears so she doesn't hear whatever completely depraved acts are going on behind her roommate's door. As it turns out, the roommate you have in freshman year when you share one big room with two beds will completely change once she gets her own room. Or at least that's what happened in Rachel's case.

She still likes Brooke. She really does. The girl is sweet, smart, wouldn't hurt a fly. But she's, let's say, more extroverted than Rachel is. With men. Every weekend. Rachel doesn't think Brooke has gone more than two weeks without a boyfriend. And she'd be more worried about that and would definitely say more if that wasn't the case; at least the men Brooke has all this ridiculous sex with are her boyfriends (for the most part). She just happens to trade them in every month or so.

Rachel is not jealous. Let's establish that fact immediately.

Just because she doesn't have a boyfriend right now, doesn't mean she's _never_ had one. She has. She's had three. And yes, for someone at age 20, that might make it seem like she's well behind the curve. But she's not.

You see, she dated the male lead from her glee club for two years during high school before they amicably split at the beginning of senior year. Then after that, she dated their rival glee club's male lead until March break of last year, when they realized that the distance was tearing them apart. L.A. is just too far away, and even with the periodic visits to one another, their relationship had just stopped working.

Oh, and before all this, she dated a boy her freshman year of high school for about a month and a half, but that was basically just making out and very little else.

So yes, she's had boyfriends.

But her life cannot be defined by the people she's dated, and for that she is happy. What kind of person measures their life in relationships? That's not what it's all about.

She's destined to _be_ something. She's been told that her entire life. She's got more talent than most people could ever dream of, and she has every intention of doing as much with it as possible.

She declined admittance to NYU to take a full ride music scholarship at OSU. She always thought that, if given the choice, she'd take New York over anything. But OSU is closer to the small town she grew up in, closer to her family, and that was a big selling point. She can conquer New York after she's graduated. She'll be older and wiser and more qualified. It just makes sense.

As she settles into her pop culture elective for the day, she reminds herself that she's just got to finish this year, then two more, and she'll be in New York City, pursuing her dreams, making things happen.

That's all she's ever wanted, to make things happen for herself.

* * *

So here's the problem:

Puck cannot tell which girls are Jews and which aren't.

He wishes he'd inherited his mom's Jew-dar. Seriously. The woman can walk into a room of 3,000 people and somehow pick out all the single Jewish women. He knows this because any time they go anywhere, she points these women out to him. With commentary. _("Oh, it's too bad about her mustache." "I think she's a Goldman. You know, that family is no good." "Do you think your children would inherit her eyes or yours?" "Oh! She looks like a doctor. Doesn't she look like a doctor? I'm going to go ask. Hold my purse.")_

So yeah, he'd love to have that trait right now.

He's sitting there in his pop culture class, looking around at the selection. (Read: women.) There's this smokin' hot blonde who, every day for the past two months, has been totally eye fucking him, but a, she's definitely not a Jew, and b, he has it on good authority that she fucked the entire tennis team within the span of a couple days. That's a dealbreaker.

There's this redhead who isn't entirely unfortunate looking. She sits in front of him, and she always smells really good, but he can always, always, always see her g-string poking out the back of her jeans. Now, this is nice for when he's tired of paying attention in class, because it gives him something to look at, but this isn't exactly the kind of girl you take home to mom. And who wears g-strings anymore? He hasn't encountered one of those since he was a senior in high school.

There's a brunette with a short haircut sitting a couple rows up from him, but he sees the cross tattoo at the back of her neck. (Which is equal parts hot and kinda creepy.)

He briefly glances at the class' young teacher, with her tight skirt, hair pulled back, pretty eyes. Her last name is Greenberg, so he's pretty sure she's a Jew. Then the light bouncing off her engagement ring blinds him, and he figures that's a no go.

Then, it's like the parting of the red sea when class lets out and this girl walks towards him (well, towards the door, but whatever...that's where he sits so he can make an easy getaway).

She's little. Like, _tiny_. Like, if he saw her from behind, he'd think she was 16. (You know, after checking out her ass, which he admits he's done before.) She's got this long, shiny brown hair, these huge chocolate brown eyes, smooth skin, tight little body, pouty lips. She's fucking _gorgeous_.

And there's a Star of David pendant hanging from the gold chain around her neck.

Fucking _jackpot_.

He smiles at her, but she completely ignores him, walks past him and heads for the door.

Well, that didn't garner the desired affect.

"Hey!" She doesn't turn around, so he reaches for her elbow before she can leave the class, pulls her into one of the aisles so they're not blocking the exit. "Hey."

"Yes?" she asks, gently tugging her arm from his hold.

"You're a Jew, right?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asks in surprise.

"A _Jew_. _Jewish_." Fuck. He didn't think the question was that complicated.

Her hand goes to her neck and she toys with the little Star of David on her necklace. "Yes. Why?"

"Look, I uh...I got a proposition for you," he says, giving her his most convincing smile.

She actually laughs and looks at him in complete disbelief. "No thank you," she says. "And it's_ 'I have'_ not _'I got.'_"

He rolls his eyes. Fuck. He picked the wrong girl. He panicked and picked too soon. But then he glances at her lips and thinks briefly about what she might be able to do with them, and no, that's not the point of all this, but he's a dude, okay? This is the shit he deems important.

"You're not even going to hear me out?" he asks, leaning back against the desk behind him, crossing his arms. (What? It shows off the guns. Can't hurt.)

"No," she says, straightening her posture. "I'm sure I have absolutely no interest in anything you could possibly propose."

"C'mon, baby, you don't know that," he says with a sly smile. Yeah, he's going to have to seduce her into this.

"Don't call me baby, and I do know that."

"How?"

"You had sex with my roommate in the bathroom of a bar and never called her again."

She speaks so evenly that it makes him wince. Okay, so that was kinda douchey. And he doesn't even know what girl she's talking about. Yeah, that could pose a problem.

"Right. Well, look, I just need a favour from a Jewish girl." She sputters and he laughs, watching her mouth open and close a couple times. "Not that kind of favour, but good to know where your head is, babe."

"Stop calling me that. My name is Rachel, if you must know," she says hotly, turning away from him again.

"Wait!" he says quickly, catching up to her outside the classroom door. Damn. For such a little chick, she sure moves fast.

"What?" she barks. "I have work to do."

"Listen, will you at least hear me out? Please?" He watches her, and he can tell she's mulling it over. She looks away from him and sighs, then when she meets his eyes again, she nods once and puts her hand on her hip, as if to remind him that she's not doing this because she wants to. "Okay, so you know about guilt trips. You've got a crazy Jewish mom, right?"

"No, I don't."

"Lucky."

"No, I mean I don't have a mother."

"Oh," he says quietly. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she mumbles.

"Well, she thinks I'm at the age where I need to be in a serious relationship. And she's like, nuts about me only dating Jews," he explains. He watches her brow furrow in confusion.

"So what is this favour?" she asks, shaking her head.

"I need..." He stops, takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "I need you to...to pretend."

She narrows her eyes and laughs humourlessly. "Pretend _what_, exactly?"

He knows she knows.

"To be my girlfriend."

"No," she says firmly, shaking her head. She turns and starts walking away.

"But..."

"No."

"Listen, babe..."

"No!" she shouts over her shoulder. He's struggling to keep up with her, and he looks down at her legs. He wonders, for a moment, if he should have picked someone with better fashion sense. Knee socks? Really?

"Rachel," he says softly, grabbing her hand. He's going to have to lay it on thick, without letting her know. "Look, I know this is insane, alright? I know how fucking nuts this is."

"I don't think you do," she says. She tries to take her hand from his, but he weaves their fingers together and she finds herself looking down at her tiny hand engulfed in his.

"It's one weekend. We'll drive home, she can fawn over you and tell you how gorgeous you are and how happy she is that I'm dating a nice Jewish girl, then we'll leave. I'll get points for dating someone like you, and you'll get a free break from school," he explains softly, his thumb idly running over hers. "After, however much time later, I'll tell her we broke up."

"This is...I don't...I'm not a liar. I don't do that. And I don't even know your name," she says, shaking her head. "And I'm sure your mother would just be happy if you dated anyone, rather than sleeping around."

"Hey," he says, offended. "That's not fair. You don't know me."

"No, I don't. Exactly. And you don't know me."

"Alright," he says, smiling at her. "Name's Noah Puckerman, from Lima. Lettered in football all four years, and I woulda gotten a scholarship, but I busted my knee up senior year. I'm a Junior here, but I'm taking this class because I'm short an elective. I've got a music scholarship because I'm fucking awesome. My dad split when I was eight, and I have a younger sister and a crazy, but awesome single mom who wants me to get married within the next two years and have a bunch of kids." She clenches her jaw in an effort to hide a smile. He sees it anyway. "So yeah. That's me, the abridged version, and yes, I know what abridged means. I'm fucking full of surprises. You'll learn that."

"I'm not doing this," she reminds him.

"I'll pay you. Just say yes."

"You most certainly will not pay me! I'm not some kind of common whore!" she says, glaring at him.

But her hand is still in his. She hasn't tried to pull it away again.

"Look, Rachel, I know this is fuckin'...extreme. And I can't blame you for thinking I'm nuts. But I'll pay for everything. And Lima is really nice in the fall. And we'll meet up before we leave so we can get some kind of story. You know, how we met and how long we've been together and whatever." He takes a breath. "Just...just say yes."

She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up at him through her eyelashes as she thinks it over. She's insane, she knows, and she should just say no and walk away and hopefully never talk to him again. But she thinks that if she had a crazy Jewish mother, she might be driven to do the same thing.

And what harm could it do? If she meets with him a couple times and deems him safe and...well, less crazy than he seems right now, then maybe a weekend away wouldn't be the worst idea. She _could_ use a break from school, from her roommate.

Also...

"You think I'm gorgeous?" she asks, smiling softly as she locks eyes with him.

"What?"

"You said..."

"Fuck. I mean...Look, you're hot, okay? You really think I'd have an ugly fake girlfriend?" he asks, and he smiles when she laughs.

She takes a deep breath and he squeezes her hand. "Fine. I'll do it."

Fuck yeah.

* * *

When he calls her to meet up and talk, work out a story or whatever, she tells him she's at work but it's a slow night, so he can come in and they'll talk. He doesn't expect her to work at this little coffee shop off campus. He doesn't know what he expected, maybe a library or something (maybe that was just the knee socks tipping him off.)

It's been a few days since she agreed to help him out, and he'd honestly been waiting for her to call him and tell him she's changed her mind. He really couldn't blame her if she did. If some chick walked up to him and asked him to do this shit for her, he'd laugh in her face, no matter how hot she might be.

She's smiling when he walks into the place, and she's talking with an Asian girl at the counter. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is in a neat ponytail. She looks good when she laughs. She sees him, and gestures for the stool a few away from the girl she's talking to. Reaching for a cup, she sets it in front of him and fills it with coffee as Asian Girl keeps talking.

Rachel walks back over to the girl he thinks might be her friend or something. She completely ignores him, basically.

"So yeah, I think I'm going to have to break up with him."

"Really?" Rachel laughs. "You mean you don't like it when guys dance around in their underwear, pretending to be Tom Cruise?"

This makes both girls laugh hysterically, and since Puck is literally the only other person in the place, he feels really fucking uncomfortable, for some reason.

Asian Girl turns to him. "Would you ever do that?"

He nearly chokes on his coffee, and he notices how Rachel's face pales.

"What?"

"Would you ever reenact that scene from Risky Business?" Asian Girl asks.

He scoffs, then smiles. "Hell no."

"See!" she laughs. "Normal guys don't do that stuff!"

Rachel rolls her eyes and takes the empty mug from in front of Asian Girl, places it in a plastic bin behind the counter. "How do you know he's normal?" Rachel asks.

Well, shit. He shouldn't find that hot. But she gives him this sly little look and she's almost smiling at him, and yeah, it's hot.

"Well, hopefully he is, because I have to go and you're stuck alone with him. I have so much chem-lab stuff to do," Asian Girl announces, standing from her place and slinging her bag over her arm.

"Call me tomorrow," Rachel insists. "Bye, Tina."

The bell over the door chimes and Tina leaves the coffee shop as Rachel leans over and wipes down the counter. Puck watches her. She's wearing this low-cut shirt, so her rack looks pretty awesome when she moves. He can see that she's wearing jeans and that they hug her ass. She looks totally different than she did the other day, but equally as hot.

"Hi," she says when she's standing in front of him.

"Hey."

"I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place."

"No, I got a sense of direction like a fucking compass," he says. She rolls her eyes, and he laughs. He can tell she's nervous. "I live on Oakcrest, so I drive past this place every day on my way to class."

"Oh," she says quietly. She reaches for a mug and a tea bag, then pours in hot water.

"You don't have to be shy, Rachel. We are dating, after all," he tells her. She glares at him.

"Not yet, we aren't. And I am a little unnerved, yes, given the reason you're even here. I've spent the last two days wondering what on earth I've gotten myself into. I'm not the kind of girl who misleads people like this, I'll have you know. I don't want you to think I'm some kind of liar, though it appears you wouldn't have a problem if I was. I've always lived honestly, and I despise those who don't. Lying is completely reprehensible, and I..."

He holds up his hand between them and she shuts up. "Are they paying you by the word? Jesus."

"I'm rather long winded. You'll need to get used to it." She crosses her arms and stares at him, like if he doesn't agree to try, she'll back out.

And that's the moment he realizes that he's completely at her mercy.

He's got one week, just barely, to make it seem like they're actually in a relationship, and at any moment, she could tell him she's not doing it, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

Except there totally is.

He grabs a napkin, then leans forward over the bar, and pulls a pen from her cute little apron.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Contract."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm writing up a contract. This way you can't just leave me high and dry," he explains as he starts to write.

"Well, what about me?" she asks, hand on hip.

"What about you?"

"I have criteria as well," she says, leaning over to read what he's writing.

He quickly covers his napkin with his hand. "Write your own!" he says with a smirk. She almost, _almost_ laughs.

She grabs the notepad from her apron and starts writing something in purple pen. After a few minutes, he's done and shoving his napkin towards her, and she's reading over her piece of paper before handing it to him.

She starts laughing immediately, reading out loud.

"I, Rachel Berry, do solemnly swear not to leave Puck after already agreeing to be his fake girlfriend with the sole purpose of deceiving his mother into thinking he's banging a Jew." She stops reading and glares at him. "Noah, that's disgusting."

"Keep reading, princess."

"At any time, should I want to back out of this agreement, too fucking bad." She gasps. "Noah!"

He laughs so hard his side starts to hurt. Something about this girl, this proper girl with all her flowery language, saying 'fuck' is totally awesome. And sexy.

"Sign," he insists.

"Not until you read mine!"

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "I hereby agree to the following terms regarding the arrangement started..." There's a date, and he looks up at her. "Seriously? Were you raised by lawyers or something?"

She smiles. "Yes, actually."

"Oh. Well, shit," he says, turning his eyes back to the paper. "One, this arrangement must be kept solely between the two parties, Rachel M. Berry, and Noah Puckerman. Two, Noah must treat Rachel with the utmost respect at all times, including, but not limited to, keeping his hands to himself, not offering monetary gain to Rachel for services rendered, keeping his distance when necessary. Three..." He looks up at her. "Rachel, this is ridiculous."

"Keep reading," she orders. He rolls his eyes.

"Three, no sexual relations of any kind will take place, and should Noah try, Rachel is given carte blanche to use whatever force necessary in order to get him to stop."

She smirks smugly and hands him the pen. "Sign."

He sighs and does as he's told. "You know, I'm not that kind of dude. You're hot, but I wouldn't fucking...I don't roll that way, alright?"

"Roll what way?"

He shrugs, hands her the pen. "No means no."

She actually cracks a smile before signing the napkin. "Good to know. Here."

He takes the napkin from her, then hands her back her piece of paper.

It's ridiculous, he knows, but he actually feels better. She can't back out now. And he kind of feels like he knows more about her after that little exercise.

"So, raised by lawyers, huh?"

And so they spend the next hour and a half, until Rachel is relieved of her shift, talking about their lives, hers, mostly. Puck feels like he knows all the basics. It's a relief.

She's sweet, despite the fact that she talks way too much and uses words he has to really think about in order to understand. And she's funny, though he's pretty sure that she doesn't really mean to be most of the time. And she's _cute_. Like, she's got this little laugh, and when he swears too much or makes a gross joke, she lets out a little huff, or rolls her eyes.

Basically, his mom is going to adore this girl. This is going to get him off the hook for _years_.

* * *

They meet up for lunch after class one day to come up with a story. Now that he knows the basics about her, and then some (she is a talker) he feels confident that he can bullshit his way through a weekend with his mom without her catching on that the whole thing is a sham.

When Rachel walks into the restaurant, he's a little bit blown away with how she looks. He's glad that he never denied that she's hot, because that means he can tell her any time he wants and it won't be weird.

Her black v-neck sweater, denim skirt, and black leather boots? Definitely hot.

She sits down across from him, spouting off about class running late and having to park far away from campus and can you forgive me? And all he can think of is how he wants to tell her that she looks good.

He's a dude. Come on.

So when he tells her she looks hot as hell, she blushes and says thank you, tucking her hair behind her ear as she reaches for a menu.

They've gotten all the small talk out of the way by the time their food arrives, and between the two of them, by the end of the meal they've come up with a believable story of how they got together and started dating.

The way they're going to tell it, Rachel and Noah are in the same pop culture class (true) and Noah always forgets a pen (not-so-true) and one day, he tapped Rachel's shoulder and asked to borrow one (not true at all). She handed him a pen, then promptly ignored him for two weeks, until one day she got to class and her pen was sitting on the desk next to him and he was asking her to sit beside him (so not true it's ridiculous.) This became a habit, her sitting next to him, until he insisted she let him buy her a coffee after class, which lead to dinner, which lead to 'other stuff.'

Rachel wasn't so on board for that part, but the way he sees it, there has to be something like that in there, or his mom'll never believe it. Rachel just rolled her eyes and said 'fine.'

"So, text me your address and I'll pick you up Friday morning at 10:00," he says as they settle the bill (she won't let him pay for her.)

"Okay," she says, still nervous. At least a dozen times a day, she wonders what she's gotten herself into. "Is there anything I should bring?"

He smirks and looks her up and down. "These boots."

She can feel her cheeks heating up. She hates that. "I'm serious."

"Oh, so am I," he says, voice low.

She turns her back to him, hair swishing around her shoulders, and says goodbye.

He watches her go with a smile on his face.

* * *

_Don't forget to forget panties. _

She gets the text while she's packing, and she wants to scream. He just doesn't get it. She is not _actually_ interested in him. She keys in a response as she shakes her head.

_I warned you about this. _

She makes a point of making sure she actually has extra underwear (you never know!) in her suitcase, then goes back to choosing which jeans to bring, a couple skirts, and shirts.

_Can't blame a guy for trying. _

She doesn't know what he means by that. Part of their agreement is that he doesn't 'try.' He knows she's not interested in him that way, and she doesn't need any sexual tension making any of this more awkward than it inevitably will be. She's glad she can blame the nerves on meeting her boyfriend's family for the first time.

There's a reason she hasn't told a soul about this.

It's absolutely certifiable. This plan is so absurd.

So why is she actually kind of looking forward to it?

It's not just that it gives her a few days away from school, or that from what she's heard, Noah's family is actually quite sweet.

There's something exciting about this, about the lie (yes, she knows how terrible that sounds.) There's something about Noah, something that she actually likes.

And it's not just that he's probably the most gorgeous man she's ever seen. No, that's not it. She's a woman and she's got a pulse, and he's got these beautiful features, excellent bone structure, lovely eyes. She noticed him before that day when he approached her about all this. Actually, she spent a lot of time in her pop culture class watching him, and that's why she eventually moved from the back of the class to the front, so she wouldn't be distracted by him.

Does she plan on ever telling him how attracted she is to him?

No. Most certainly not. She's really not interested. At all. _Really_.

_See you in the morning, babe. _

And despite herself, she can't say she hates that he calls her babe.

(Sometimes she can still remember the way her hand felt, held by his.)


	2. Chapter 2

She's waiting in front of her apartment building when he pulls up in the morning, and he shakes his head at the size of her bag. It's easily double the size of his. How much shit does one woman need for a three day trip? But he hoists the thing into the bed of his truck without a word, because he reminds himself that she's doing him a huge favour and the least he can do is, you know, not be a jackass.

She's fidgeting with the bottom of her skirt when he gets back into the cab of his truck, and he can practically feel her nerves.

"Calm the hell down, Rach. It's gonna be fine. You might even have _fun_."

"I have fun!" she cries, offended.

He glances over at her as the come to the stop sign at the end of her street. "What kind of fun?" he asks, and it's not even an innuendo.

She folds her hands in her lap and looks forward. "None of your business."

He doesn't know what that means. He spends the next 20 minutes trying to figure it out.

They're on the highway, and the radio station is cutting in and out, so Puck throws in a CD, not really caring whether she likes it or not.

When she starts singing along softly next to him, he looks over at her like she's grown a second head.

"Where the fuck you been hiding that voice?" he asks, brow furrowed. She literally beams at him.

"I'm a music major, Noah," she tells him, as if it's just obvious that she'd have the voice of a goddamn superstar.

"I thought...I...Shit, Rachel, I didn't know you were like, _good_."

"Well, Noah," she says, looking over at him, "maybe you're not the only one who's full of surprises."

And so that? That's the first time Puck's body 'reacts' to Rachel.

And it's because of something she _said_, not something she _did_.

Well, fuck.

* * *

"You ready?" he asks as they get out of his truck in front of his mom's modest two story house.

She takes a deep breath and nods. "I think so."

He smiles and grabs their bags from the back of his truck. "Just remember, she's kind of full on. So if she like, hugs you and pulls you away from me, like, immediately, don't be freaked out."

Rachel laughs and follows him up the walk towards the house. "Got it."

The door swings open before they even get to it. Puck winces, waiting for his mom's inevitably epic freak out.

"You must be Rachel!" she chirps, pulling the girl into her arms. She moves back, rests her hands on Rachel's cheeks. "Beautiful." She looks past Rachel to Puck, who's struggling up the front steps with Rachel's fucking massive bag. "Noah, you didn't tell me she was so beautiful."

"He didn't?" Rachel asks, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Fuck. He clearly has no idea what he's gotten himself into, here.

"I said she was..."

"Pretty, Noah. You said _pretty_," his mother says, ushering them into the house. "This girl is _gorgeous_."

Rachel is blushing, and Puck smiles at her. "Yeah, I know, mom."

He can't force himself to look at Rachel to see her reaction to that.

His mother pulls him into a huge, bone crushing hug, then pulls Rachel with her into the kitchen. "Noah, take your bags up to your room."

Wait. What?

"Huh?" he asks. He follows into the kitchen where his mom is already pouring cups of tea. "My room?"

"Yes, dear. Your room. Where did you think you two were sleeping?"

He doesn't miss the horrified look on Rachel's face. See, he'd promised her that there was no way his mom would let them sleep in the same bed in her house.

"I just thought...I thought you'd..."

"Noah, you're a grown man. This lovely young woman is your girlfriend. I'm not naive, you know," she says with a grin. Rachel turns ten shades of red. "Oh, dear. You're so adorable."

"Okay, so I'll just go..." Puck stops, looks at the way his mom is literally mooning over Rachel. "You wanna try not to creep her out, mom? Jesus."

"Oh, stop it," she says, shaking her head at him. "We're just going to have a little visit."

Puck is already terrified of leaving Rachel alone with his mom. She doesn't seem fazed. She's stirring honey into her tea, smiling as she sits at the table. She glances at him and gives him a single nod, as if to tell him that she's fine on her own for a little bit.

So that's awesome, because if she couldn't handle his crazy mother, he'd have a fucking problem. They've got a whole weekend to go, here, and it's only been 10 minutes.

"So, tell me _everything_," he hears his mom say as he makes his way up the stairs.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

When he comes back down after dropping their shit in his bedroom, Rachel is laughing at something or another, and he's just thankful that the baby pictures haven't come out yet. And yes, he knows his mother, and he knows that's inevitable.

He walks over to the table, rests one hand on Rachel's shoulder, and grabs her mug with the other. He takes a sip, and Rachel tips her head back to look at him. He just winks at her. He figures that's the kind of shit couples do. It's been a while since he had a proper girlfriend. (Try never.)

"So where's the brat?" he asks, sitting in the chair next to Rachel, draping his arm lazily over the back of hers.

"Hannah is at school, Noah," his mother replies, as though he should already know the answer. "You know, some people actually enjoy school."

"Freaks."

"Hey!" Rachel cries laughingly. "I love school. And I loved elementary school."

"Of course you did," Puck mumbles.

"Sixth grade is so fun. You feel so grown up," Rachel explains. Aviva smiles like the sun shines out Rachel's ass. Granted, Puck thinks it's pretty awesome that Rachel remembers exactly what grade his sister is in.

So they sit there for the rest of the afternoon, talking about Rachel, mostly, and she doesn't really seem to mind.

When Hannah comes home from school, she sees the stranger sitting at the table, and she looks a little weary. When Aviva explains who Rachel is, Hannah seems a little more interested, and she sits down next to her mother.

After dinner, which Rachel earns even more points for helping to prepare (seriously, the girl is good in the kitchen, too, which Puck knows is awesome, but fuck...he doesn't need a reason to _like_ her, really) Avivia insists that Puck take Rachel out and show her around town. He can't really complain, and he can tell that Rachel welcomes the break from his crazy mother.

They get back into his truck, and Rachel closes her eyes and tips her head back against the seat.

"Told ya," he says smugly.

Rachel laughs a little and looks over at him. "Honestly, I didn't know one woman could be that..."

"She's a whirlwind," Puck says good-naturedly. "You good?"

"I'm fine. It's just nice to have a break. She really...I thought you were exaggerating."

He laughs again as he pulls his truck onto the street. "Nope. Not necessary. She's nuts."

"You know, I think this is the first time in my life I've actually been grateful not to have a mother," she says, turning toward him a little.

He doesn't really know how to respond to that. He never looked at it that way, never asked her if she was okay with doing all this, given that she doesn't have a mom. (And yeah, he knows why, knows that she's got 'two gay dads' and how all that went down.)

"Sorry. I'm sure this is...shit, weird for you or whatever."

"No," she insists quickly. He glances over at her. "Okay, yes, it's weird. The situation is weird, but don't worry about the mom thing. I came to terms with the fact that I don't have a mother when I was a small child. My fathers are amazing. I never needed a mother."

And so yeah, he thinks she's pretty awesome to be that confident about it or whatever. It's pretty sweet that she's as girly as she is, too, given that she never had anyone to show her how to be. But then again, he's pretty badass and masculine, and no one showed him that, either.

"Yeah. Same here. I mean, with my dad or whatever," he says. She gives him this little smile, like she totally understands. But talking about feelings is bullshit, so he turns up the radio and steers onto one of the back roads he knows like the back of his hand.

"So, where are you taking me, exactly?" she asks after a few minutes.

"You'll see."

She thinks it's weird, but she doesn't distrust the smirk on his lips anymore.

She just sits back and looks out the window, taking in the scenery, the way the sun is going down over the farmland around them. Puck taps out a rhythm on the steering wheel, and Rachel crosses her legs. He tries really hard not to stare at her as she does it, but it's difficult. Who even _makes_ skirts that short?

When they pull up to a clearing that overlooks the whole town, Puck cuts the engine and hops out, then Rachel follows. She honestly doesn't know why she keeps doing that.

But this really is a gorgeous spot. She can see all the way out to the lake past the other side of town, and the downtown area is alight, twinkling prettily below them.

"What is this place?" she asks as she folds her arms around herself and walks up next to him.

"Only the best fuckin' place in all of Ohio," he says. She smiles and rolls her eyes. "Brought lotsa girls here."

"I don't need to hear that."

"Lost my virginity here, actually. Of course, that was before I could drive. She could, though."

"Noah, really," she insists, turning towards him. "Spare me the details."

"C'mon," he laughs. "These are the things a girlfriend should know."

She rolls her eyes again (she's done more of this in the last week and a half than ever in her life.) "I highly doubt your mother is going to ask if I know when, where, or to whom you lost your virginity."

Okay, so she's got a point there.

"Fine," he says, and they smile at one another. She shivers slightly, hands moving up and down her arms. "You cold? Here." He pulls off his sweater, leaving him in just a tee shirt, and hands it to her. She hesitates a moment. "Rachel, just take it."

She pulls the sweater over her head and tugs the sleeves up so her hands are poking out. It's huge on her, and she knows she must look ridiculous. The light grey fabric is longer than her skirt. It smells like him, too. She's never really noticed how he smells before. It's faint, and she likes that it is. She's sure that one would have to get very close to his skin to actually smell his cologne.

She shivers again.

"Come on," he says, chuckling slightly. "I can't have you freezing your perfect little ass off on my watch."

With a huff, she turns and starts back to the truck. "Would you please stop commenting on my behind?"

"You're the one showing it off."

"How so?" she demands as they both open their doors.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." He turns the key, then smirks at her. "When you got an ass like that, you _should_ parade it around."

She looks out the window again, and he thinks it's cute, how she's trying to be all pissed.

"It's '_have'_," she says.

As if he cares if she corrects his grammar or whatever.

* * *

They drive around for a while, and he buys her a hot chocolate to warm her up, though she's saying something about milk and sugar or something else that he's not really paying much attention to. He orders a coffee and she wonders aloud how he can drink caffeine at night and still manage to sleep.

"I'm just made of awesome, babe. I can do all sorts of crazy shit."

She's fairly certain that doesn't make a lot of sense, but she finds herself laughing anyway.

* * *

They get back to the house just as his mother is turning off the television, ready to head up to bed. She says goodnight, kisses her son's cheek, and says for about the millionth time how nice it is to have Rachel in her home. Rachel reciprocates the hug she gets and thanks Aviva for having her.

Puck does not miss the look his mom sends him over Rachel's shoulder. Roughly translated, it says, _'BUY A RING IMMEDIATELY AND GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN WITH THIS PERFECT WOMAN!'_

Yeah, he's gonna go ahead and ignore that, alright?

Rachel yawns as soon as they're alone, and when he checks the clock he sees that it's nearing 10:00. It's a Friday night. He hasn't been in bed at 10:00 on a Friday night since...Well, it's been a long fucking time. Unless, you know, he was with a girl, but that doesn't really count since there wouldn't have been any actual _sleeping_ taking place.

But anyway, he suggests they go to bed, because he is a little tired, and he doesn't really know what else to do. Letting her go ahead while he sits downstairs and watches lame television sounds like a bad idea.

So she uses the bathroom down the hall while he turns down the bed and changes into the plaid pants he's being forced to wear. Yeah, normally he's not so much into the clothes while sleeping, but he's pretty sure that if he even tried to sleep naked, Rachel'd have a freaking heart attack. She better not have a problem with him being shirtless, or he won't be able to sleep at all.

She comes back into the room wearing a cute blue long sleeve tee shirt and a pair of matching pajama pants. (He notices that second to realizing that she's totally checking him out. Of course she is. He's stacked and damn proud of it.) He steps past her without saying anything (it takes some restraint) and heads to the bathroom.

When Rachel's alone in his room, she takes a moment to look around. She's actually a little surprised. All his furniture matches, and things are neatly stacked, books on a shelf and some photos on his dresser. There are no band posters or anything juvenile. The walls are a dark green, and the bedding matches. It's nice, she decides. She wonders how much of a hand he had in decorating it.

The hardwood is cold beneath her feet, so after she's pulled her hair up into a loopy ponytail, she climbs into bed. Noticing there are no less than five pillows on the bed, she decides to be proactive and sets up a barrier down the middle, a pillow wall, if you will. She's just turned onto her side, feeling very accomplished, when he comes back into the room and closes the door behind him.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks with a smirk.

She doesn't even look at him. "It's a perfectly logical answer to our predicament."

"What predicament is that, babe?" he asks, climbing into bed and pulling the covers over himself.

"I don't want you to touch me."

Well, fuck.

"Well, fuck," he says, laughing softly. He switches off the light and lays there in silence for a few moments before something dawns on him. "What if mom comes in in the morning and sees your Berlin Wall of pillows?"

"What a _horrible_ historical reference, Noah, and don't you think she'd knock?"

He laughs again. "You met her. You tell me."

She huffs and flops around, though he can't see her through the darkness. She dismantles her barrier and throws each of the pillows at him before he tosses them onto the chair next to the closet.

"If I feel you so much as _breathing_ on me, you'll learn what a six-month self defense class can do for a girl," she says threateningly.

He shouldn't be turned on, right? Like, that's weird and stuff.

He turns on his side so his back is to her, and thinks unsexy thoughts.

"Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Saturday morning, as soon as his eyes are open, Puck sees the face of a woman sleeping next to him. She really is beautiful. He doesn't know when the last time was that he thought that about a girl. But whatever. He's just got a soft spot for this one because she's doing such an awesome thing for him.

He carefully gets out of bed, and yeah, he does that lame thing where he pulls the covers up over her a little further to make sure she's warm enough. He grabs a tee shirt and pulls it on as he steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him quietly.

He runs into Hannah on his way to the bathroom. "Out of the way, loser, I gotta piss."

"You're so disgusting," she says seriously. "I don't know how you even _have_ a girlfriend."

He just laughs and shoves her toward the stairs. If she only knew.

When he gets to the kitchen, his sister already has a glass of milk in front of her, and his mom's making her famous latkes (the things are _legendary_, and he's missed them) and some bacon and some eggs and oh shit, are those home fries? There's a cup of coffee waiting for him at the edge of the counter, prepared just the way he likes it.

As much as he bitches about his mother, he's missed the nut case. Say what you want, but she's pretty awesome.

"Where is Rachel?" she asks, like it seriously hurts her that the girl isn't there.

_Crazy cakes. _

"Still sleeping," he answers after taking a sip of coffee. "Big day yesterday. Didn't wanna wake her."

His mom tilts her head and smiles. "So sweet of you." Hannah rolls her eyes, and Puck swears he's an evil genius. These chicks don't have any freaking clue that this is all a lie. "You know, when you said you were dating a girl, I really didn't expect her to be so...so..."

"Not disgusting?" Hannah supplies. Puck smiles at his sister. She has potential to be awesome yet.

"Oh, stop," Aviva says, tossing her tea towel at her daughter. "But yes." Puck laughs into his coffee cup. "She's almost too good for you."

"Well, shit, mom, I see your honesty hasn't disappeared since I saw you last," he mumbles.

"I said _almost_," she says with a smile. He walks over to steal a piece of bacon from the pan (almost burning his goddamn fingers on the grease, but he's fucking starved.) She smacks him with the spatula in her hand. "Does Rachel let you do that?"

"Okay, is this how it's gonna be? Shit. We can't have a conversation about anything without you dropping her name?" he asks. He sits down at the head of the table and runs a hand over his face.

"It's just such a nice _Hebrew_ name," Aviva says. She's practically giddy.

He's just realized that as happy as his mom is right now, this second, she's going to be the absolute, complete opposite when she learns that he and Rachel have 'broken up.'

Fuck. He hadn't thought of that.

Rachel chooses that exact moment to walk into the kitchen. Her hair is pulled back into some messy knot thing that Puck thinks is hot, and she's wearing one of his old McKinley sweatshirts. He raises his brow.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" Aviva chirps. "Just in time for breakfast."

"It smells amazing, Aviva," Rachel says, using the name the woman insisted she use.

And Rachel will not admit that there's a part of her that was a little disappointed to wake up alone. But that's just ridiculous, isn't it? She wakes up alone every day of her life. That said, she doesn't normally go to bed with a man sleeping next to her either. Was it ridiculous to expect that he'd be there when she woke up?

She's being absurd. She knows it.

Puck pours her a cup of tea, then reaches for the honey (he's seen her pour it into her mugs, so he knows she uses it). Rachel smiles at him and takes it from his hand. His mom is watching the whole thing from the corner of her eye, trying not to make it seem like she's watching.

So naturally, he decides to sell it a little bit.

He rests his hand on the small of Rachel's back as she stands at the counter, then leans down and kisses her temple, murmuring a good morning in her ear.

He's pretty sure his mom is_ this close _to calling a rabbi.

"I borrowed a sweatshirt," Rachel says needlessly. "I hope that's okay."

"Sure," he says, smiling at her. "Looks good on you."

She smiles, genuinely, he thinks, and takes a seat at the table next to Hannah. The two start talking about Disney princesses or _whatever_, and so Puck helps his mom set the table and dish out food. He doesn't miss the way Rachel watches him as he interacts and laughs with his mom.

Maybe if she wasn't an anal retentive crazy person with apparent boundary issues, and he wasn't a total player who's kind of against the idea of having a girlfriend, he and Rachel could have been together. You know, in another life or something.

Rachel's hand somehow ends up on his thigh after breakfast when they're all just sitting there talking.

Huh. That's new.

He doesn't even think she knows she's doing it. He's not about to say anything.

(Sadly, this is the most action he's gotten from a chick in weeks.)

* * *

So things are going really smoothly until dinner. They've been having a relatively normal, quiet day, all just hanging out together. They watch a movie, and Rachel sits next to Puck on the sofa, and he throws his arm around her shoulder. She doesn't really seem to mind.

She's still wearing his sweatshirt, with her own jeans now, after her shower, because she's complaining of the cold. Puck can't lie and say that he doesn't like the way the number 20 looks emblazoned on her back.

And her hair smells good.

But then they're making dinner, and Puck is 'helping'. He actually knows his way around a kitchen. He's cooked a lot in his life, when his mom would work through the dinner hour and he was responsible for cooking for himself and Hannah. And now that he lives alone he, you know, doesn't like to starve.

But he's got a process, okay? No one wants to take four hundred trips to the sink or the garbage while preparing a meal, so he takes a page out of that annoying as fuck Rachel Ray and tosses all his garbage into a bowl, then throws it out when he's done. And he stands directly next to the sink, so if he needs to rinse his hands between tasks, he doesn't have to cross the kitchen to do it. It's genius.

The other two women who are trying to maneuver around the kitchen at the same time? They don't think so.

"Gosh, is he always like this?" Aviva asks with a laugh as Rachel chops vegetables for a salad and Puck works on marinating chicken to throw on the grill (one last barbecue before the weather goes to shit.)

"Always," Rachel lies easily. "You should see him at home. It's even worse."

Now, Puck doesn't really think anything of this.

His mother? She _squeals_. Like literally squeals, and it legitimately startles him. He turns to look at her, and she's staring at him wide-eyed.

"You're living together?!" she asks excitedly.

"Oh, no, I..." Rachel tries, eyes full of panic.

"Mom..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, swatting at him with her tea towel.

He looks over his mom's head at Rachel, who looks sincerely worried and mouths an apology.

What the hell. What's one more lie?

"Because it just happened, and I didn't want to tell you I was living in sin with a girl until you met her," he says. Rachel's jaw drops. He almost laughs. "But Rachel ruined that idea."

"Oh, she didn't ruin anything!" Aviva proclaims. She walks over and hugs Rachel again, and the younger girl laughs nervously. "I'm just so happy for you kids. I could cry!"

She goes back to tending to the food on the stove, and Rachel marches over, grabbing Puck's elbow. "Noah, could I speak with you for a moment?" she asks, faking sweetness.

"Sure thing, babe."

She pulls him into the living room, and he's still grinning when she lets go of him and crosses her arms over her chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses. "You're terrible! Do you realize the multitude of _lies_ you've told her this weekend? I can't believe you just did that! I'm so uncomfortable with this."

"Well then, get comfortable," he says seriously. "We had a deal. You signed the contract."

"It was a _napkin_!"

"Listen, it's just one more day, alright? One day and then you don't even have to worry about it again. Just fucking...nut up and deal, okay?"

She furrows her brow in anger and confusion. "_Nut up_? What does that even _mean_?"

He rolls his eyes dramatically and, just for fun, grabs onto the pocket of her (his) sweater, pulling her close to him. "Grow a pair. Deal with it. Fuckin'...cowgirl up."

"Where do you come up with these ridiculous sayings?" she asks, shaking her head in annoyance.

"One of my many, many talents," he says, hands still in her pocket, holding her against him. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

She raises her brow and her lips quirk upward. "Are you genuinely apologizing right now?"

"Apparently," he mumbles. She full on smiles, and then completely catches him off guard, hopping up onto her toes and kissing the side of his mouth.

"Oh, gross," comes Hannah's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Rachel laughs and tries to pull away from Puck, but he holds her there and his sister disappears into the kitchen.

"What was that?" he asks.

Rachel's eyes meet his and she shrugs her shoulder. Her hands slip into her pocket and wrap around his, for the sole purpose of pulling them out of her shirt.

"Nothing," she says. "I just don't know that I've ever really seen you do anything genuinely."

She walks away and he's left standing there, wondering if she's right.

(And trying to keep himself from wanting to kiss the rest of her cherry lip gloss from her lips. That shit tastes good.)

* * *

She doesn't know why she kissed him. She really doesn't. Maybe she's getting caught up in the weekend. He's actually kind of nice to cuddle up with on a couch. He's funny, and she loves the way he's always making his mom laugh, even when he doesn't really mean to. His sweater is warm and comfortable, and his house is cold.

And his hands were so close to really touching her, and she liked it, and then he was being kind of sweet.

And so yes, maybe she _wanted_ to kiss him.

* * *

Sunday morning, Rachel wakes up to Noah staring back at her. He's already awake, though just barely, she thinks. He's just laying there, looking at her.

She takes a deep breath and stretches before settling back in against the pillow and pulling the covers up a little more.

"Were you just watching me sleep?"

(Yes, but there's no way he's going to _admit_ to that.)

"You snore."

"I do not!" she cries laughingly.

"Little bit," he teases, smirking at her. (She doesn't snore at all.) She reaches out and straight-arm shoves him in the chest. He grabs her forearm and holds on so he doesn't fall off the bed, and it ends up pulling her closer to him. She tries to pull away, but he wraps her up in his arms. She tenses. "Wait 10 minutes. This'll be epic."

"What?" she asks in confusion. She's trying very hard not to notice the way his chest feels, hard and pressed against her own, or the way his hand is resting on her hip, or the way his other is playing with the ends of her hair. "Noah."

"Trust me. Just pretend to be asleep," he says.

She shouldn't trust him, not given that she's acting as an accessory to the ridiculous lies he's telling his mother.

But she closes her eyes, and she doesn't fight him on it when he pulls her closer and his legs tangle with hers, just because it's so much warmer, here against him.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, the door opens and Aviva gasps a little bit (but it's not a bad kind of gasp) and then sighs. "Oh, they're just so..."

She doesn't finish her sentence, but she whispers something in Yiddish that Rachel is fairly certain translates to _'in love' _and_ 'married by next winter.' _

Her heart wrenches at the thought of how Aviva is going feel when Noah tells her it's over between them.

And he doesn't try to pull away after his mother has closed the door.

Neither does Rachel.

Puck really, really likes the feel of this girl in his arms. She's just so little. And she smells so amazing. And her hand is resting in the middle of his back. And her kick ass legs fit together with his. He's struck with the urge to kiss her forehead (it's just right there next to his lips) but he resists.

* * *

When they're packing their things on Sunday afternoon, Rachel is neatly folding her skirts and tops (inside out so she knows which things need washing and which don't, just like her fathers taught her). Puck is tossing his shit into his bag with no rhyme or reason whatsoever. What's the point?

"You realize that your clothes take up more space when they're balled up like that," she states, packing her meticulously organized makeup case into her suitcase.

"Isn't that, like, physically impossible? If something is one size, it's one size. Right?" He looks genuinely perplexed. Rachel smiles at him. "And maybe packing is easier for me because I didn't bring my entire fucking _life_ in my suitcase."

"You have a _duffle_ _bag_, which is just absurd," she points out. "And forgive me for wanting to make a good impression on your family. I didn't know what all to bring."

She looks all uncertain, a little shy. He smiles. It's nice that she put in the effort. She was a total champ this weekend.

He walks to the end of the bed and sits down, reaches for her hand and pulls her so she's standing in front of him, between his legs. "Rachel, thank you," he says, looking up at her, both her hands in his. "You were really awesome to do this. I mean...we were practically strangers."

"And now I feel like I'm wedged into your life," she says. She regrets it immediately. She really shouldn't have said that. "I just mean because..."

"Yeah. No, I get it."

She looks down at their hands, then pulls hers from his gently. "I really have to finish packing."

"Right," he says, watching her walk back over to her suitcase.

He should not have wanted to kiss her just now.

He grabs that McKinley sweatshirt from where it's sitting, folded on his desk. He tosses it towards her suitcase, where it lands among all the other shit she brought.

"What's this?" she asks.

"Keep it," he says with a shrug. "A souvenir."

She smiles and tucks it carefully among the rest of her things.

* * *

They say goodbye, with Aviva waving from the curb, hand on her chest as she smiles. Hannah is standing there too, hands in her pockets, and Rachel thinks she's going to miss Lima.

This may have been the most fun she's had in ages. She can't remember laughing so much or feeling so at home in someone else's house. She never felt it with any of her actual boyfriends.

She might actually miss being Noah's fake girlfriend.

* * *

When Puck pulls his truck up to Rachel's apartment, he hesitates for a split second before he gets out and grabs her suitcase for her.

He doesn't know why. It's not because he doesn't want the weekend to end. Absolutely no fucking way.

"Listen," she says as they stand on the curb, "I want to say something."

He grins at her. "No one's stopping you, babe."

"I want to thank you, too," she announces. "Because I honestly thought this weekend might be a complete train wreck. But I actually had a really nice time, and I don't want you to think that I suffered through it or anything. I happen to really like your family, Noah."

"Well, they fucking _love_ you." She smiles and looks to the ground. "It's cool, Rach. I'm glad you had a good time. Makes me feel less guilty."

She looks back up at him, one brow raised. "You should feel guilty. So should I."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, rolling his eyes. He throws one arm around her, pulls her against him and speaks into her hair. "Go inside before you freeze that perfect little ass off."

She laughs and pulls away from him, smacking him on the arm as she does so. "You're deplorable."

"You know it, babe!" he calls, jogging back around to the driver's side of his truck.

He waits until she's inside before he drives away.

He's almost (almost) ready to admit that he actually almost might care about her.

* * *

When Rachel is cold on Wednesday night as she tries to do homework, she pulls that McKinley High sweatshirt over her head before going to make some tea.

Just because it was the closest thing at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't show up to their Thursday pop culture class, and Rachel tries not to think anything of it.

(He had a late night with the guys, and he's sleeping it off. Going to class hungover sucks. Plus, it took him for fucking ever to get the brunette out of his bed in the morning.)

* * *

It's a Sunday morning, and Rachel is recovering from a rare night out. Tina insisted that Artie's band needed support, and so Rachel found herself at a horrible all-ages club, sitting with her high school friend and watching Artie's admittedly wonderful band perform top 40 hits.

But see, Tina is a few months older than Rachel (her parents kept her out of kindergarten a year, fearing the strict Chinese upbringing she'd had to that point would hold her back; something to that effect.)

Basically, Tina is old enough to buy alcohol.

Normally Rachel wouldn't even dream of consuming an alcoholic beverage illegally. She's never been a big drinker, and when she has had a glass of wine or two, it's been with her fathers, on their watch.

Not at some seedy bar where the house wine comes from a box and the most refined thing to drink is a gin and tonic.

But, as Rachel learned, she quite likes gin and tonic.

She does not like the feeling that comes the morning after having several of them.

So the horrible buzzing coming from the front of her apartment is absolutely the worst sound she could possibly hear. Her roommate texted her last night saying she'd be staying with Steve (Stefan? Stewart? Storm? _Whatever_). She hopes Brooke didn't forget her keys or something.

"What?" she barks into the intercom. "And you know, you can just push that button once, and I'll still hear it. No need to hold it down, for crying out loud."

"Save the fuckin' lecture, Rachel. Let me up."

"Noah!?" She glances down at herself, her St. Carnation High (her alma mater) sweatshirt and black yoga pants.

"Let me in! Jesus. It's fuckin' freezing out."

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "It's...It's Sunday."

(_And I haven't seen you in two weeks_, goes unsaid.)

"Yeah, I own a calendar, too, Rachel. Buzz. Me. Up."

She does.

She regrets it immediately.

She quickly checks herself in the mirror. There are remnants of last night's makeup sticking to the skin around her eyes, and her hair is a complete disaster. Sadly, her clothes are the best thing about her at the moment. Her lips are chapped and dry, so she rifles through her bag for the medicated balm she uses in the fall and winter. She tries to wipe the skin underneath her eyes, but apparently that 'long wear' eyeliner works as advertised. Go figure.

Pulling her hair into a much neater ponytail, she sighs and rolls her eyes at herself. This is as good as it's going to get.

And why should she care? They've slept in the same bed. He's seen her first thing in the morning. Her appearance should be the least of her worries.

She should be concerned with why he's showing up at her place at 10:00 on a Sunday morning in the first place.

The knock at the door comes when she's busy stuffing her roommate's Cosmopolitan collection into the magazine rack wedged between the sofa and the wall.

She pulls the door open and winces as he looks her up and down.

"Holy shit. You look haggard."

She scowls at him and closes the door behind him. "Thanks."

"No, I mean...are you okay?" he asks. She thinks he might actually sound concerned. She pulls her hands into the sleeves of her sweater, and when she looks at him again, he's smirking in that way she hates. (He has two smirks. One, she adores. The other? The other, she wants to slap.) "You're totally hung."

"Ugh. Shut up and tell me why you're here."

"You're totally hungover!" he says in amusement. But wait... "Tell me you're here alone."

"What? Of course I'm alone," she says as she watches him drop his duffle bag on the chair at the island in her kitchen. Well, that sounds rather depressing. "I mean..."

"So you didn't pick up? You don't have some guy hiding in this place somewhere?"

"I'm almost certain that if I felt like myself, I'd be totally offended by your assumption that I'd just pick up some random man in a bar."

"What? I'm sure you've got shit you need taken care of," he says, grinning at her. As soon as he's said it, the thought of anyone else 'taking care of' her 'shit' makes him feel...pissed.

"I refuse to answer that." She crosses her arms, which makes her shirt ride up, which gives him a glimpse of her fucking killer stomach. He thinks it's pretty weird that it's really the most skin he's seen, you know, other than her legs. "What are you doing here?"

"Right!" he says, far too loudly. "Right. So I'm at the gym, right? And I'm working out, and my cell rings, and it's my fucking mom, and she's all 'let me talk to Rachel', and I'm all, "dammit, woman, I'm at the gym', and she's all..."

"Noah, if there is a point here? _Find it_," Rachel says harshly, her eyes closed.

"I told her I'd call her when I got home so she could talk to you."

She tilts her head and looks at him, and he's attempting a look of innocence, which she's fairly certain is akin to a mob boss flashing a police badge.

"You're..."

"Deplorable. Yeah, I've heard. Just do me a solid, Rach, I'm begging you."

"If I had the energy to kick you the hell out of my apartment, I would," she says seriously.

"Is this your first hangover?" he asks in amusement.

"Dial the damn phone, Noah!" she says, rubbing her temples with her fingertips.

He shakes his head as he hits the 'Mom' button in his contact list. (What? He loves his mom, okay? Don't bust his balls for that shit.)

He talks to her for a few minutes, notices the way Rachel's head is tipped back on the sofa, like all she wants to be doing is sleeping right now. He actually feels bad for her. Hangovers fucking blow. Seriously. And the thing is, no matter how many times you get them, and how many times you say_ 'I'm never drinking again,' _you always do, and you always wonder what the fuck you're doing to yourself.

Bottom line is, he knows how she feels, and he kinda hates that she has to feel it.

But then his mom's asking to talk to Rachel, so he hands the phone over, and Rachel seems to perk up, at least a little bit. She's laughing and being sweet (which certainly isn't how she's been with him). He watches as she paces her place, and he takes the opportunity to look around. There are a few pictures on the bookshelf in the room, Rachel with another brunette, who must be her roommate. He remembers that girl, now that he's seen her face (Rachel reminding him of her name did nothing.) He knows exactly why he didn't call her again. Bitch was all, _'I think you could be my boyfriend,'_ and Puck was all, _'Fuck that noise.' _(Seriously. What guy wants to have a girlfriend he knows fucks random dudes in the bathrooms of shitty bars?)

There are no family pictures. He assumes those are in her bedroom, and he finds himself anxious to see what that's like. He really doesn't want to push his luck. He peruses her DVD collection, sees that it's mostly 'classics' and musicals. The other side of the DVD case holds pretty much every dance movie ever made, he assumes, and so that must be the roommate's side of the collection. Rachel told him that Brooke is a dance major.

"No, Aviva, I assure you, he's eating properly." He rolls his yes and Rachel just shakes her head at him as she smiles. "Well, that's true."

Wait. What's true?

Shit. He should have known these two talking without him to moderate couldn't be a good thing.

"No! No, I completely understand. I'll talk to you soon," she says. She grimaces when she realizes that isn't part of the plan, her talking to his mother often. But then again, if she didn't say that, she wouldn't be going along with the plan, and the plan is to make it seem like she and Noah are together in every sense of the word. "Okay," she laughs. "I'll tell him. Have a good week...Bye."

She hangs up and passes the phone to him, waits for him to take it, then wraps her arms around herself. She feels nauseous. She's not sure if it's the hangover or the lies.

"Thanks," he says quietly, tucking his phone back into his pocket. She shrugs one shoulder. "You saved me."

"Yes, well." She doesn't finish her thought. He doesn't think she ever intended to. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you."

Now he feels awkward. And kind of like a dick. He barged into her house on a Sunday morning when she feels like shit, just so he could ask another favour.

He walks over to where he dropped his bag, then slings it over his shoulder. He unzips the side pocket, pulling out a bottle of bright red liquid. This could totally save his ass.

He tosses the bottle at her, impressed that she catches it easily. "Gatorade," he says needlessly. "Drink that and you'll feel a million times better. Trust."

And really, she has no reason not to. "Thanks."

"I'll get out of your way," he says, making his way to the door.

"You're not in my way, you just...you surprised me, that's all," she says, shrugging her shoulder. She holds the door open and he walks through, standing in the hallway for a moment.

"Thanks for this." She shrugs again. He thinks it's weird that she keeps doing that. Totally not like her. "Feel better, hey?"

She laughs softly and rolls her eyes. "I'll try."

He winks and starts down the hallway towards the elevator.

She closes the door, locks it, and opens the bottle of Gatorade.

She absolutely hates that the 15 minutes he was in her apartment were the best 15 minutes of her whole week. It's ridiculous. She shouldn't let this happen.

She resolves not to let it happen again.

* * *

When he actually shows up to their pop culture class, he flops down into the seat next to her and pulls out his books while she stares at him, as if to ask what he's doing there or something. He thinks that's pretty fucking weird.

So what if he's missed the last two weeks? One time, he was hungover, and the other time, he was...also hungover.

Whatever. It's an _elective_, and he _elected_ not to go. No worries.

"Here," he says, sliding a paper cup across the table toward her. "Lemon tea with honey. That's what you like, right?" She looks at him like he's crazy. "It's just tea, Rachel."

"Thank you?" She says it like a question, and it makes him roll his eyes. The way he sees it, the least he can do for her is bring her a two dollar cup of tea when they have class together. "So you've decided to show up today."

"Clearly."

"It's a little surprising."

He turns to her as their prof makes her way to the front of the room. "You know how you felt on the weekend? Picture that times a million, and you might have some idea of how I felt."

"You know, you could just choose not to drink," she tells him, writing the date neatly at the top of her page.

Their prof starts talking, so Puck leans over and speaks into Rachel's ear. (He ignores how fucking good she smells.) "Where's the fun in that?"

She thinks she does a pretty good job at hiding the way her body reacts to his breath on her skin.

After class (after an hour and a half of him literally tormenting her; writing notes on her pristine notebook pages, flipping her textbook to the wrong page, poking her thigh with his pen) Rachel's phone buzzes and she picks it up after seeing that it's Artie.

Puck wants to know who the fuck this Artie guy is.

She casts him a seriously scary glance as she talks on her phone and gathers her things, and she leaves without saying goodbye.

Well, shit.

* * *

He's waiting outside her apartment building when she gets home that evening. It's dark, and it's freezing, and she doesn't know what in the world he could possibly need from her at 9:00 on a Thursday evening.

She walks past him, pulling her keys from her bag so she can open the door. He doesn't move.

"Well? Come in," she says, hand on hip as she looks at him. He's a little pathetic, sitting there on the steps, all bundled up in his coat. He steps inside and tries not to look cold.

"Who's Artie?"

She drops her keys before she can even open her mailbox. "Excuse me?"

"Artie. Who is he?" Puck asks, kneeling down to pick up her key ring for her.

"And just how is this any of your business?" she asks, a little grin on her face and her brow raised.

"You're my goddamn fake girlfriend. I think I have a right to know if you're fucking someone else."

She shakes her head and scowls at him. "Your language is repulsive. You know that, don't you?" He shrugs and she resists the urge to hit him. "Artie is a friend of mine from high school. He also happens to be my best friend's long-term boyfriend." He's just staring at her, and she realizes that he probably feels like an idiot, as well he should. "And to save you future embarrassment and potential frostbite, I'm not sleeping with anyone. How long were you waiting out there?"

"A while. You're not?" he asks.

He is very, very interested in this conversation.

(He's spent the last however many hours fuming over the prospect of her banging some dude. After a few drinks with his buddies at the pub, he couldn't take it anymore and found himself at her apartment. That was an hour and a half ago. He's not going to tell her that part.)

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," she says, shrugging her shoulder like it's no big deal at all.

He should not feel guilty that he's got a girl on notice who he can call and get some action from if he wants. He really shouldn't. Rachel isn't his girlfriend.

So yeah, why does he care so much about whether or not she's sleeping with anyone?

"Hey, uh, what are you doing this weekend?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"I'm going to visit my fathers," she says, sifting through the mail. She dumps the junk mail in the recycling bin in the corner of the little alcove, then looks back at Puck. "Why?"

He shrugs indifferently. "No reason. Just wondering." She looks at him like she's on to him, and he pulls his keys from his pocket. "I'm outta here."

"Goodbye, Noah," she says, eyes shining in amusement.

What the fuck is that about? Sometimes he feels like she knows way too fucking much.

But wait. What is there for her to know?

* * *

Rachel doesn't tell her fathers about her little trip to Lima, or her ruse designed to mislead an indecently pleasant woman into thinking her son is doing something he's not.

The break is nice, though. She sleeps in her old room and eats at her favourite restaurant and has Sunday brunch with her fathers like they used to do every weekend. She has coffee with a couple of her friends who stayed in town, and when she runs into her ex (why does that always happen?) and he tells her he misses her, she doesn't really know how to react.

And she certainly doesn't know why, at that exact moment, she thinks of Noah.

* * *

When she gets back into town, she drops her things off at her apartment, and drives over to Noah's building. He gave her his address back in the beginning, attempting to tell her that she'd trust him more if she knew where he lived. She still doesn't understand that logic, but she's thankful she has his address.

She's been thinking about him since Saturday and her run-in with Eric (her former co-lead of their high school glee club; also her first serious boyfriend.) She's been thinking that maybe there's something more to this than just him wanting to trick his mother. Certainly, that's how it started. She wanted to hate him. She remembers that first day when he held her hand and attempted to seduce her into doing what he wanted her to do. He still doesn't know what it was about that encounter that had her agreeing.

But she likes him. He's not a terrible person. He's actually quite sweet. He'd do anything for his family, and he loves his mom more than he'd ever let on. He's shown flashes of protectiveness toward Rachel, too, and she thinks that has to mean something. He helped her through her hangover, and he brought her tea, and he seemed to be quite agitated at the thought of her sleeping with another man.

So yes, somewhere along the way, she's become curious, wondering if perhaps they could (or should) explore what this is between them.

His apartment complex is very different from hers. The units all have outdoor entry, so she walks up to the second floor and stands in front of his place, apartment 212, and she ignores the butterflies in her stomach as she knocks.

She doesn't expect a leggy brunette to answer the door wearing nothing but one of Noah's tee shirts.

"Oh! I...I..." Rachel stammers, backing away from the door slightly.

"Yeah?" the girl says icily.

"Carly, who is it?" Noah asks, walking towards the door. He sees Rachel and his face falls, and she just stares at him for a moment before turning away. "Rachel." There is no way she's staying. For anything. He's shirtless and wearing just a pair of sweats, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on. "Rachel!" he cries, stepping outside just as she's made it to the top of the stairs. "Wait."

She stops and closes her eyes, her back to him. She knows that if she keeps walking, he'll just catch up anyway.

"What?" she asks when she hears him close behind her.

"What are you doing here?"

He makes it sound accusatory, which she doesn't appreciate in the slightest.

And she supposes he's to blame (thank?) for her ability to come up with a lie so quickly.

"I just got home, and I thought that I'd come over so you could call your mom and she and I could talk," she says. She's facing him now, and he's pulled a shirt on. "Clearly, you're preoccupied."

"I was...shit. I wasn't expecting you."

She laughs bitterly and thinks it's nice that he at least has the decency to look ashamed.

But why, though? He's not her boyfriend. He doesn't owe her any explanation. And she thought it was strange that he was concerned with who she was sleeping with. Now she's doing the same thing. But maybe that's the problem.

He never did explain why he was so concerned.

"I should have called," she says. When she looks up at him again, he's a little closer.

"Rachel, I...fuck. I don't..."

"I don't need an explanation, Noah. You're a single man. I am certainly not anyone you have to answer to."

His brow furrows in annoyance. "That's not..."

"I'm going to go," she states, turning on her heel. "Enjoy your evening."

He watches her go and wonders why he feels like he just got caught cheating.

* * *

They don't really talk after that. At all.

Ever.

She makes sure she's surrounded by people in the class they share, so he can't sit next to her. She stays after one day to talk to the teacher, and she leaves quickly another, using the front exit that leads to the school's practice facility. He knows better than to follow her. Another time, she doesn't show up at all, and he's actually worried about her.

And his mom is on his ass because she hasn't talked to Rachel in weeks.

"Midterms, mom. She's got a performance and all her other stuff," he says. Fuck, he is a master bullshitter. The lies are getting old, though. "We're both really busy."

"Well, you tell her that I expect her to call me soon!"

"Yeah, whatever."

So when he catches up with Rachel outside the school one day when it's snowing, he's got yet another favour to ask her. She doesn't look pleased to see him.

She does look cute, he thinks, in her red wool jacket and black knit hat, matching scarf and mittens.

"Let me guess," she says, looking up at him. "You need me to do something."

"Rachel, just fucking listen, okay?" he says, and it sounds too harsh even to him. "My mom's freaking out. She wants to talk to you. Can you just...just one time, Rachel. I swear."

She shakes her head and laughs bitterly. (She shouldn't have expected him to just want to speak with her.)

"One time," she says, her voice dangerously low. She hands him her phone and he looks at her like she's crazy. "Give me her number. I'll call her tonight."

"I thought we could..."

"You thought wrong."

"Rachel, can you please...We're not fucking together, okay? You made a big fucking deal about me getting pissed over who you were railing. How is that any different than this?"

"Noah, I am not mad at you for sleeping with someone. It's none of my business what..._women_...you want to go to bed with," she says, and she sounds bitter, even to herself. "I'm just sick of this. I'm sick of lying and having to cover for you because you're too much of a coward to tell your mother that you're just not the kind of guy to have a girlfriend."

He lets out a breathy laugh and furrows his brow. "Really? That's what you fucking think of me?" he asks seriously.

"Well, I haven't seen any proof to the contrary."

He shakes his head as he enters his mom's phone number into Rachel's cell. "Nice, Rachel. That's...you sure know how to make a guy feel like a piece of shit."

(She bites her tongue to keep from asking how he thought she felt when she went to his apartment that day.)

"I'll call her later, but then I'm done. I refuse to enable you to continue this charade. It's wrong," she states seriously, tucking her phone back into her bag. "This one last thing, then you and I...we won't ever have to talk again."

Now he's really fucking confused.

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you again?" he asks.

She laughs and shakes her head. "The only reason you ever spoke to me in the first place was because you needed something from me. It's clear that the one thing you want these days, you're getting from someone else."

She walks away and he realizes she's talking about sex.

Then he tries to figure out if she was just telling him that she'd have sex with him if he wanted it.

What the _fuck_ just happened?

* * *

(He hasn't slept with anyone in weeks, since Rachel walked in on him and Carly.)

* * *

Rachel cries after she hangs up with Aviva. They had a lovely conversation that lasted well over a half hour, and Rachel was just reminded of the kind of man Noah was that weekend at his mother's house. He was kind and considerate, a perfect gentleman.

That's the man she misses.

* * *

He sees her in class one day, her tight jeans tucked into those black boots he remembers from weeks and weeks ago and this crazy backless long sleeved shirt that she's wearing a tank top underneath. Her hair is pulled half-up, curled at the ends, and she's wearing lip gloss that he knows is cherry, from that one time her lips were anywhere near his.

He can't sleep that night. He realizes that he might just miss her or something, which is weird, because he didn't really think he knew her all that well.

But he realizes now that he does know her well. He knows what she puts in her tea, and that she hates coffee, and that her favourite Streisand movie is The Way We Were, which she insists is weird, since it's not a musical. He knows that she sleeps on her side and that she loves her fathers more than she loves anyone or anything. He knows about her stupid ex-boyfriends and that Tina has been her best friend since they were 12 and starred in the same production of Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

So yeah. He knows her.

And he knows how her lips taste, and how her skin feels, and how her hair smells. He knows that her legs are amazing, and her stomach is crazy-flat, and that she's got really cute little feet.

And this is not the first time he'll get off thinking about her.

There's something fucking wrong with him.


	4. Chapter 4

He sees her at a bar one night. She's sitting with her roommate, Tina, and some dude in a wheelchair. She's nursing a glass of white wine, and he watches her spin the stem of his glass between her fingers.

She catches his eye across the room, then looks away immediately, and he hates that.

(But she's just trying not to make it seem like she wants to talk to him. She does, but he doesn't need to know that.)

He watches her get up and start dancing with some douchebag with no rhythm.

Puck leaves pretty much immediately after that.

* * *

She deletes his number from her phone when she realizes that he's not going to be calling her anymore.

She sees him every Thursday in class and sometimes in the halls of their building or around campus, but that's it.

It doesn't matter that she doesn't feel like it's enough.

* * *

Thanksgiving comes and goes, and Rachel, very briefly as she drives to her fathers' house, wonders what Noah has told his mother.

They've 'broken up' by now, and it's ridiculous of her to feel sad about a relationship that never actually happened.

But she's worried about how Aviva will take the news.

She really does love that family.

* * *

So, when his mom starts going on and on about Rachel and why she isn't there, Puck tells her that Rachel's dads have a bunch of family coming in, and Rachel can't get away to Lima for even a day.

He totally intended to tell her that he and Rachel broke up (and sometimes he feels like that's not far from the truth anyway), but then she just got all excited and 'Rachel this' and 'Rachel that', and he couldn't go through with it.

* * *

Rachel literally bumps into him in the hall one day. She's talking to a friend, walking backwards as they go their separate ways and say their goodbyes, and she backs right into something (someone) hard, which sends her to the ground.

Then Puck is standing over her, trying not to smile, and he offers his hand to help her up.

"Sorry," she says, dusting off her jeans.

"'S'fine. You okay?" he asks. She must realize that her hand is still in his, because she pulls it away quickly and adjusts the strap of her bag.

"Yes, thank you."

And then she walks away, and stupid him, all he does is watch her go.

* * *

The first week of December, Puck starts questioning whether there's something to that karma stuff.

Because his mom calls him and tells him that she's on her way to visit him, she'll be there in an hour, and she can't wait to see he and Rachel.

Fuck.

He is so _fucked_.

And see, he could just wait till she gets there, then tell her that he and Rachel broke up. He could. Except two days ago when they spoke, he told her that everything was fine, never better.

Why the fuck did he do that!?

He hates himself. He really does.

He dials the phone, hoping to Moses that Rachel doesn't hate him too much to do one last thing for him. (And yeah, he knows they said that last time,_ 'one last thing,' _and that this is no small favour.)

"Rachel!" he says as soon as he hears her pick up the phone.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"It's Puck. Noah. Puckerman." He rolls his eyes at himself. Fuck, he sounds like an idiot. "What are you doing right this minute."

"Music History homework. Why?"

"Look, I need you to come to my apartment. Fuckin'...fucking_ right now_, okay?"

"What? Why?" she asks frantically.

Finally, someone who feels like he feels.

(Jesus Christ, why doesn't he clean this fucking place more often!?)

"Because my mom is coming, and she thinks we're fucking living together!"

"I thought you were going to break up with me!" she cries. She closes her eyes. She's mad at herself for being happy to hear his voice, and she's mad at him for doing this to her again. "I mean, you were going to tell her so."

"Yeah. I forgot."

"You forgot?!" she shouts. "Don't you think that was kind of an important detail?!"

"Yes! Fuck! I've been...I've had shit going on, okay? _Fuck_!" He's trying desperately to squeeze all his useless shit into his bedroom closet, where he knows his mother won't look. "Look, she's gonna be here in an hour. I _need_ you, Rachel. I'm fucking serious. Please. _Please_. I'll owe you so huge."

She sighs and he knows he has her. "Fine. I'll be there. But...gosh, Noah, this is the _last_ time. I swear. Your mother is a lovely woman and doesn't deserve to be lied to."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just...bring some girly shit, okay? So it looks like you live here," he demands. "Fuckin'...I dunno. Candles or whatever it is that you chicks always leave around."

"Goodbye, Noah."

"Hurry your hot ass. She's gonna be here in a half hour!"

"_Goodbye_, Noah."

When she hangs up, she takes a deep breath, because she's not entirely sure what the hell she's just agreed to. She's got to somehow make an apartment she's never really seen, look like she's lived there for months.

This is going to be difficult.

But she is Rachel Berry, and she will do this, and she'll do it right.

* * *

She calls Noah when she's a few blocks from his place and tells him to meet her outside.

The look on his face when he opens the trunk of her car is priceless.

"What the fuck is all this!?"

"Trust me," she says, echoing words he's said so many times before.

He rolls his eyes in frustration and grabs her massive suitcase. (Seriously? If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was moving in for real. But maybe that's a good thing, because that's how it has to look.) Rachel has two boxes piled on top of one another, and he's sent down to make another trip, pulling a heavy box from the trunk of her car, then locking it behind him.

This had better be fucking worth it.

When he gets back into his apartment, he sees her in his kitchen. She's putting a table cloth and place mats on his table. There's literally a glass bowl full of fruit sitting on the island in his kitchen. There are a couple candles (that _match the fucking bowl_.)

He's just staring at her.

"Take my suitcase to the bedroom."

He really can't do anything but what she tells him to, because his place already looks like it's been taken over by a chick.

He takes her suitcase and shoves it under the bed, just in case his mom checks in there or something. It'd be weird if Rachel's suitcase was sitting there, packed with stuff.

Rachel changes things around in the living room, adding some of her magazines in with his, and fanning them out neatly on the coffee table. She mixes some of her DVDs alphabetically in with his, and sets a few photos of her family and friends in among his. (She does think it's sweet that he has photos of his mom and sister in his living room, and she makes a note to ask him who the friends in his photos are.) Her textbooks fit easily on his sparse book shelf.

"Holy shit," he says when he steps back into the living room.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asks. He points down the hall, and she grabs one of the smaller boxes.

"What are you doing?"

"Women have products, Noah!" she shouts back. He follows her voice and stands in the door while she sets makeup, a hair dryer, face creams, and whatever-the-hell-else in his medicine cabinet.

He watches as she takes a box of tampons and puts them in the cupboard beneath the sink.

"Please, please, _please_ tell me those are just for show and not because you need 'em right now? Because I _can't_ fuckin' handle that."

"Noah!" she laughs. He smiles. It's been a long time since he heard her laugh. He's missed it. "Just for show."

"Thank fuck," he mumbles.

There's a knock at the door, and Rachel shoves the box into his hands, pushing past him into the hallway. He takes the empty boxes and puts them on the top shelf of the hall closet, and Rachel smoothes out her shirt.

It's just then that he notices how fucking hot she looks. She's got on this little black pleated skirt and a button down shirt with the top few buttons undone.

"Ready?" she asks. She's pretty sure that he was just staring at her ass when she turned around.

"Ready when you are, babe."

She turns around so he won't see her smile at his use of that term of endearment.

She wonders how she was ever mad at him, and if she should still be.

And then she pulls the door open and they fall into their fake relationship so easily that Rachel is a little unnerved.

Why are things so simple when they let them be?

* * *

Rachel makes dinner, insisting that Aviva not lift a finger, and there's a split second when Puck is_ this close_ to blurting out that he loves this girl._ This close_.

First of all, she looks fucking _adorable_ in his kitchen, putting together this baked pasta dish that looks and smells fucking delicious. She walks up to where he's sitting at the table with his mom and rests her hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently (it's fucking nice, okay?) and asking if he wouldn't mind opening a bottle of wine.

Well, shit. If she's going to keep touching him, he'll do pretty much anything. _Anything_.

Hannah calls Aviva to let her know that she got to her friend's place okay after school (the girl is staying there until her mother is home) and Puck corners Rachel in the kitchen. Literally.

He walks up behind her and rests his arms on either side of her, pressing against her and pinning her to the counter. "You're amazing," he says quietly.

He wonders if she really means to push her body back against his. "Thank you."

"You never have to say those words to me again," he tells her, and he thinks he means it. "You have no idea how big I owe you."

She turns in his arms, which surprises him and also gives him a fucking stellar view down her shirt. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, and he really, really hopes he can keep his shit in order. She leans up to speak into his ear, and he's pretty sure she's some kind of fucking evil (amazing) seductress or something.

"Yes, I do," she whispers. His hand grips her hip a little too tightly, and hers comes to rest on the back of his neck. "Your mother was looking."

She pulls away abruptly and hands him the bottle of wine. He sees her fucking devilish smile as she stirs the sauce on the stove. He doesn't know what the hell just happened.

But yeah, he's totally into Rachel Berry.

* * *

"What was that in the kitchen earlier?" his mom asks when Rachel excuses herself to use the washroom. She's elbowing him in the ribs and he's about two seconds away from telling her to chill the fuck out.

"Nothing," he says as he sets the table like Rachel asked him to. (He doesn't dig following orders, but yeah, he figures if Rachel's asking him to do something, the least he can do is do it.) "Not my fault she can't keep her hands off me."

"Noah," Aviva says, chuckling as she shakes her head.

"What? I'm sexy mom. It's not my fault. It's your genes," he says. She laughs and rolls her eyes at him. "'S'true. You're a good looking lady, ma."

"It's no wonder Rachel fell for you. You can be quite charming when you want to be."

He's never tried to charm Rachel, really. Not seriously.

He thinks he should.

* * *

Puck sets up the pull out couch for his mom, puts the sheets on it and everything. Rachel insists that she and Noah can take the couch so Aviva can have the bed, but the woman refuses, says something about a couple's room being their own.

Yeah, that one makes Rachel a little uncomfortable, seeing as until today she'd never actually set foot inside Noah's apartment and she still has yet to step into his bedroom.

Puck closes the door behind them after saying goodnight to his mother, and Rachel runs her hands through her hair, letting out a sigh.

"Being a hostess is exhausting, you know," she states. She smiles at him, and he's running his hand over the back of his neck. She's fairly certain he's about to thank her again. "I had fun tonight."

He lifts his eyes to meet hers. "Yeah?" he asks uncertainly. She doesn't think she's ever seen him anything less than completely confident. She just nods. "Good."

She shouldn't let his smile make her nervous. They're about to sleep in the same bed.

"I'm just going to get ready for bed," she says.

"Yeah. Yeah sure."

She looks at him expectantly and raises her brows. "Um...where did you put my stuff?"

"Shit," he laughs. She wonders if she's making him nervous too. He pulls the suitcase from under his bed and she kneels down. He sees her underwear as he stands behind her, because her jeans gape at the small of her back. Yellow lace. He needs a distraction. "Gonna go brush my teeth."

She look over her shoulder at him and nods.

Once he's in the bathroom with the door closed, he splashes cold water on his face and tries to get his shit under control. What's going on here? Has he always had this thing for her? Sure, she's hot, and he's always known that. A glimpse of her panties would have always had this affect on him, he's sure. But it's not even that. It's the way she always bails him out, even when he doesn't deserve it (he usually doesn't.) They had that stupid fight that he still doesn't really understand, and she's just this awesome girl who he wants. So fucking bad.

And now he's going to be sleeping next to her, and his fucking mom's going to be 20 feet down the hall, so he can't even do anything about it. Let's face it, if he had Rachel alone in his apartment when he felt like this, he'd be seducing her.

And he doesn't think it'd take much.

He walks back into the bedroom after brushing his teeth and changing into the sweats he keeps hooked on the back of the bathroom door. He's not wearing a shirt.

She's in a blue camisole and a pair of shorts.

In fucking December.

For a chick who's always cold, he has to wonder what the fuck she's getting at.

"Be right back," she says quietly as she slips past him. He watches her, the way her shirt doesn't really meet her shorts, and how her legs are fucking endless.

He pulls back the covers and lays down on his side, on _his_ side of the bed. They have fucking sides of the bed, and they aren't even a damn couple.

When she walks through the door, she's pulling her hair up into a ponytail, and she nudges the door shut with her hip. The way her arms are raised has her shirt riding up, and she's not wearing a bra, and yeah, he can see that she's cold, and fuck, he _can't_ fucking handle this. He can't. He moves closer to the edge of the bed when he feels her lay down and pull the covers up over herself. He turns out the light, figuring that maybe if he can't see her, he'll stop thinking about her.

(But she smells all good and stuff, and every time she moves he gets a waft of it.)

Jesus Fucking Christ, he is such a fucking pansy. He either needs to fuck her or forget her, and the former isn't really an option right now. (But is the latter, either?) The only reason they're even speaking right now is because of his mom, who's camped out in his living room. So yeah, he's not getting laid tonight.

Not to mention, he can't read Rachel for shit. She's barely said two words to him alone all day. So she had fun. That doesn't mean _he_ had anything to do with it. He knows how much she likes his mom.

"Hey, Rachel?" he says quietly, his back still to her.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for doing this."

He rolls onto his back and looks at her across the pillow. He can barely see her in the dark. "Well, it was my big mouth that led her to believe that we're living together," she says. "I suppose it's partly my fault."

"Well, that's true," he says, laughing when she smacks him on the stomach with the back of her hand. "Listen, I know I fucked up not telling her we broke up or whatever. You're saving my ass."

She turns onto her side she's facing him, and tucks her hands up under her cheek. She can smell his toothpaste. "I always seem to be doing that, don't I?" she says with a smile.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He can't take any more of her coy act right now. "Goodnight, Rachel."

"Goodnight, Noah."

* * *

Sometime around 3:00 am, he wakes up when her cold feet are pressing against his calf. Her back is to him and she's sleeping soundly, hands under the pillow.

Maybe if she'd put some fucking clothes on, she wouldn't be freezing.

He gets out of bed quietly, reaches for an extra blanket from the closet, and drapes it over the end of the bed. When he gets back in, he carefully nudges her back over to her side.

Thing is, he misses her frigid skin touching his.

* * *

In the morning, Rachel wakes up in a panic. Mostly because she can't remember where she is. It takes her a few moments to realize, and that's helped along by the man sleeping soundly to her left. She smiles as she looks at him. He's appears almost innocent when he's sleeping, and she holds in a laugh, because that's a little misleading, isn't it? He's just about the furthest thing from innocent that one can get.

But he's also kind of beautiful, too. She's dying to reach out and touch him. Dying to. If last night taught her anything, it's that she is far more attracted to him than she thought or remembered. It was easy to forget it, since she was so quick to cut him out. It hasn't even been 24 hours since they 'reunited' and she's wondering how she ever did that.

She turns on her side and looks at him a bit, then the next thing she knows, his hand is on her waist and he's pulling her against him.

"Noah," she says quietly. She just assumes that he's awake if he's doing this. "_Noah_."

He doesn't budge, open his eyes, or let on at all that he's awake.

She could pull herself away from him and get out of bed.

She closes her eyes and tries not to focus on the way his large hand feels, splayed on her skin.

She doesn't really go back to sleep, just lays there with her eyes closed and her heart racing for what must be close to a half hour. She hears him take a deep breath, like she's learned he does in the morning, then his hand runs up and down her side slowly a couple times. When he opens his eyes, he's staring right into hers.

"Sorry," he says, quickly taking his hand of her. She loves the way he sounds in the mornings. She doesn't know what to say to that, so she doesn't say anything. "Sleep good?"

"Proper English would be 'well,' and yes, I slept well."

"Way too early for Professor Rachel," he grumbles. They both hear a noise coming from the kitchen, and their eyes meet again. "Breakfast."

"Mmm."

Shit. _Shit_. It's the morning, and he's laying there with her, and now she's making these sounds, and..._fuck_. "Yeah."

She smiles at him across the pillow. (He pretty much loves that.) "I'm getting up. Any requests?"

"Food. Coffee."

"Aren't you getting out of bed?" she asks, a smile on her face.

And when he accidentally glances down? Well, let's just say morning wood is not helped by the fact that when she's laying on her side, her breasts are pressed together and begging to be let out of that little tank top.

"Not yet," he says gruffly.

She doesn't seem to care, because she stands up and, with her back to him, stretches her arms over her head.

Woman is trying to _kill_ him.

Then she bends down (so fucking cruel) and pulls a robe out of her suitcase before shoving it back under the bed. She ties it around her waist and fixes her hair. "Noah, you should get up."

He really can't.

"Soon."

She rolls her eyes and walks around the bed to get to the door.

The robe doesn't help him much when he already knows what's underneath it.

When she's gone, he switches the lock as quietly as he can, and he doesn't even feel guilty when his hand moves south. (He's very, very good at drowning out background noise.)

* * *

After breakfast, Rachel explains that the school's a capella group has a showcase on campus in the afternoon, and Aviva decides that she'd like to go to that. Puck thinks the a capella group, while musically intricate and whatever, is just about the lamest thing to be a part of. (He was asked to join, and they tried everything at their disposal to recruit him, but he declined and told them he wasn't changing his mind.)

Now he finds out that Rachel thinks a capella groups are 'sexy.' He doesn't know whether to be freaked out, or regret not joining.

But please. As if he needs the help of an a capella arrangement of Only The Good Die Young to help him get pussy.

They get dressed after deciding they'll shop for a bit in the old part of town with the cool little boutiques, then have lunch before heading over to campus.

And that in itself is a whole big thing.

Puck and Rachel walk back into his bedroom, then as soon as the door is closed, Rachel gets this horrified look on her face.

"What?" he asks her cluelessly.

"Noah! Your mother...and we're...I...we have to _change_!"

She is a fucking nut case. He's sure of it. "Uh. Yeah?"

"But we're both in here! And it'll be very strange if you leave so I can change, or vice versa. She thinks we're sleeping together. She'll think it odd if we can't get dressed in front of one another!"

She's totally freaking out. He smirks and lays back on his bed, one hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. "Can't have that."

"I am not _changing_ in front of you, you _pervert_," she hisses. He laughs and sits up. "Close your eyes."

"What?" he laughs.

"There's no way you're seeing me naked!" she whispers. She throws a pillow at him for some reason. "Close your freaking eyes!"

He lets out a sigh and does as he's told. "Rachel, you realize that naked girls are like my bread and butter, right?" he asks.

She trembles. She's glad he can't see it. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asks.

She holds up just her middle one, knowing he'll definitely make a comment about that if he can see it.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know!? I have my fucking _eyes closed_. Jesus. I thought you were smart." She laughs and throws the pillow at him again. "Ow!"

"Don't peek."

"I'm not gonna fucking peek."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to?" he asks, and she looks over just in time to see the stupid grin on his face. She's out of pillows to throw. He's got one covering his face now. "Happy?"

"Very," she says. She hesitates for a second before pulling her top off and reaching for her bra. "You know, it's been a long time since I've been naked in front of a man."

What is she doing!? Why did she just say that!? See, that's the unfortunate thing about her nervous habit of talking constantly. (Well, it's not so much a nervous habit as it is just a habit.) She says a lot of things she doesn't mean to say.

"How long?" he asks.

Well, that was better than she expected.

"Forget I said that. And it's none of your business. Stop talking. You're distracting me."

"That mean you'll be naked longer? Because, babe..."

"Shush!" she laughs. "I talk sometimes when I don't mean to."

"That's different from you talking all the time when you do mean to?"

She's got her shirt on now and she's reaching for her jeans. She furrows her brow at him, then almost laughs at the sight of him laying there with a pillow over his face.

"I thought you'd stop teasing me, you know, since I'm helping you out and all?" she asks. She doesn't really mean it. She kind of likes this playfulness they have.

"Yeah, whatever. Look, you almost decent? Because I'm like, being asphyxiated here."

"Slightly dramatic, don't you think?"

He hears a zipper and assumes that means she's got something on. "Seriously. You dressed?"

"Yes, Noah," she says as she smoothes out her sweater. He pulls away the pillow and looks at her appreciatively. She's got those boots he loves in her hands.

"I approve," he says, grinning at her.

"I don't need your approval," she tells him, sitting down on the bed to pull on her boots.

He gets up and walks to his closet, pulling out a pair of clean jeans and a long sleeved shirt. He pulls his tee shirt up over his head and watches Rachel blush.

_No, seriously_, he wonders, _how long has it been?_

She finishes zipping her boot, then closes her eyes tightly. He smirks and reaches for clean boxers. "You can watch if you want to, baby," he says, dropping his voice.

He sounds like he's far closer to her than he needs to be, then she feels a hand on her knee, then the other.

"Noah."

"Just saying, Rach. We're dating, right? You should get the full Puckerone experience."

She starts laughing. Hysterically.

Well, that's new.

"What in god's name is a _Puckerone_?"

He leans over, his lips right next to her ear. "Just say the word and you can find out."

Her hand is on his bare chest, then, right over his heart, and she's pushing him away. "Get dressed, Noah," she says, chuckling softly.

(She had to push him away just so she wouldn't pull him closer.)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Last chapter! Thanks, you guys. You seriously blow me away. PR fandom kicks ass.

* * *

Somewhere between stopping for more coffee (tea for Rachel) and Aviva buying a cute little shirt for Hannah at one of the little shops they stop at, Puck ends up with his arm draped around Rachel's shoulder. He winks at her when she looks up at him, and he thinks that he'd probably want to do this whether his mom was there or not.

And he really doesn't give a shit if any of his classmates see him.

* * *

Rachel does something bold that she normally wouldn't dream of while they're sitting in the auditorium listening to the a capella group's showcase.

She's sitting between Noah and his mother, and she reaches over and slips her hand into his. He doesn't say anything, just holds her hand against his leg. They have to let go to clap after the first number, and afterward, his hand finds hers again and he gives it a squeeze.

If she didn't know any better, she'd think there's something going on between them.

She knows that's how it looks to everyone else.

* * *

When they get back to the apartment, Rachel insists that she's just got to run out for a few groceries for their dinner, and Puck runs after her when she slips out the door quickly. He catches her elbow before she reaches the stairs and she turns towards him.

"Hey," he says as he lets her go. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she insists. "I just know you don't have what I need."

Well, shit. He wonders if there's some kind of deeper meaning to that.

"Okay."

"I'll be back in a half hour," she promises, smiling up at him. "It'll be worth it. I promise."

She hops up on her toes and kisses his cheek, and when she tries to turn away, he grabs her wrist.

"Rachel, what the fuck?" he asks, brow furrowed, searching her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she breathes out, closing her eyes tightly. "That was...I didn't mean to. It just felt...it felt like a moment."

"I'm not talking about that," he says. She opens her eyes and looks terrified. "You're freaking out about something."

She twists her wrist to pull it away from him. "I'm not. Well, maybe I'm freaking out about the fact that I just _stupidly_ kissed you, and I don't know why I did that, other than we're saying goodbye, and we've just spent the entire day pretending to be a couple, and I just..."

"_Rachel_."

"I'm fine, Noah, really."

He doesn't believe her, not at all, but he lets her head down the stairs.

If his fucking mom wasn't inside, he would have grabbed Rachel and dragged her back to his bedroom, because these little kisses on the cheek are not enough for him. Not even close.

* * *

Dinner is weird. Not the food. The food is great. Rachel is a hell of a cook. She makes this amazing baked chicken thing, with the best mashed potatoes he's ever had in his life, and she does these salted green beans that are to die for.

Basically? She's perfect. Fucking perfect.

But that's not the weird part. The weird part is that she barely looks at him, and when he offers to help, she shoos him out of the kitchen and tells him not to bug her again. When they're sitting at the table, he performs a little experiment (and he can admit it's extreme). He settles his foot next to hers, then lets his toes creep up to caress her ankle.

She kicks his shin.

Whatever that girl says, there's something wrong with her. He intends to find out what it is.

They sit together in the living room after dinner, and Puck doesn't let her get away. When they're sitting on the couch, he pulls her against him. When his mom gets up to go to the washroom, Puck leans closer.

"Rachel, you can't fucking lie to me, okay?"

Somehow, that's the wrong thing to say.

"You don't have a problem with me lying to her," she points out, brow raised.

"She's more gullible than I am, and don't change the subject."

Aviva comes back, and Rachel announces that she's going to bed. It's just barely 9:30. She just can't be around him anymore right now without being _with him_. With any luck, she'll be asleep when he comes to bed.

"What did you do?" his mom asks.

"Fuck," he grumbles. He doesn't need this shit right now. "Listen, believe it or not, I don't fuck up everything I touch."

She puts her hands on her hips and stares at him. "Who said anything about that?"

"I know that look, okay? I'm fucking..."

She rests her hand on his arm and he looks at her as he sighs. "Noah, go talk to that girl. I'm quite tired. I think I'll go to bed," she says.

The look in her eye as she says it lets him know that she's not tired at all, but that she's just going to either entertain herself or go to bed and (for once in his damn life) mind her own business.

* * *

Rachel is barely pulling her top on with her shorts when the door opens and Puck walks in.

"Noah!"

He looks her up and down because he just can't help it. He can't. She's gorgeous, and her body is fucking amazing, and he wants her so damn bad, and today has just confirmed it.

"Rachel, can you please just give me a fucking straight answer and tell me what's going on with you? Because you were fine today, and then it was like someone flicked a switch and you went crazy," he says seriously. His voice is quiet, though, so his mom can't hear.

She rakes her hands through her hair and hates herself for not being a better actress. She should have been able to let on that she was fine, that nothing was wrong. Then she realizes that she did act that way, just not to him. She wonders if maybe he can just read her better than anyone else.

"I suppose you want the truth," she says. She means it as a joke, but he doesn't take it that way and tells her that, yeah, the fucking truth would be nice. "I think...I think that when we do this, when we're pretending to be this perfect couple, it just reminds me that I don't have that, you know? And I tell myself that I don't want it, but I _do_, Noah. I want...god, I want this."

She gestures between the two of them, and he doesn't know if she means a relationship or _this_ relationship.

He finds himself hoping it's the latter.

So what does he say here that won't make him look like either a jerk or an idiot?

So for once in his life, he's going to play it safe.

"Well, you'll find it," he says sincerely.

There. Safe.

But then she's shaking her head and his heart is racing and he thinks holy shit this is really happening, what he's wanted probably since he met her.

"No," she whispers. She puts on this little smile, and there might be tears in her eyes or something. "No, I think...I think I want _this_." She takes a breath and looks at him again, and god, if he doesn't want the same thing, this is just going to be the most embarrassing moment of her entire life. "I think I want us."

He's across the room in seconds, slipping one hand into her hair and pulling her towards him with the other on her waist. And when he kisses her? When he kisses her, he's pretty sure it's the best fucking kiss he's had in his entire life. Her lips are like, perfect, and her hands are balled in fists, clutching his shirt. She lets out this little noise of surprise, and he thinks that's just so hot. (As if she didn't think he'd kiss her after she said that.)

He pulls away after a few moments, because if he doesn't, he's just going to want to take this way, way further.

"I fucking want you so bad, baby," he says, his forehead pressed against hers.

Her eyes open and look all hopeful. "Really?"

He just laughs softly. He'd ask how she didn't know, but he supposes the signals have been pretty fucked up, given that it's been his job the last couple days to make it seem like he's in love with her.

"So bad."

"Noah, I..." She tries to take a step away from him but he doesn't let her. It makes her smile.

"What?"

"I just...are you sure? Because if you're not, I understand. I know this is out of the blue, and if you don't..."

He cuts her off with a kiss, hooks his arm around her waist and lays her down. He swipes his tongue along her bottom lip, and she mewls. He doesn't know if it's because he's laying between her thighs or because he's slipping his tongue into her mouth. Either way, she doesn't seem to mind. Her hands run through his hair, then down his back, and he pulls away from her just so he can take off his shirt. She smiles at him as he lays down on top of her again.

"You have..." He kisses her and she laughs into his mouth. "Stop it," she laughs.

"Fuck that," he murmurs against her lips.

"You have the most gorgeous body," she says breathlessly. He groans and arches into her. "God, _Noah_."

"This," he says, slipping his hand beneath her sorry excuse for a tank top. "You talk about _my_ body...Fuck, Rachel, you're..."

His hand lands on her breast and she breathes out his name. She pushes him away and he doesn't realize why until she's pulling her top off and dropping it next to them on the bed. He takes a second just to look at her, all smooth skin laid out before him, then he bends down to kiss her before letting his lips travel down to her chest. She arches into him and her nails trail lightly down his shoulder blades, which makes him shiver. It's like she knows exactly what he likes. He _cannot wait_ to be inside her.

When his hand travels between them and toys with the little string at the front of her shorts, she tenses and turns her head so he can't kiss her.

"Wait," she says. He doesn't. He presses his hand against her through her shorts. "Noah. Noah, please wait."

"What is it?" he asks. His eyes are so dark that it'd scare her if she didn't know the reason.

"Your mom."

He groans loudly and rolls off her. Dammit. His jeans are fucking uncomfortable, and Rachel is half-naked next to him, and she's totally wet right now, and all he wants is to fuck her. He wants _so badly_ to fuck her.

"Is it too late to send her to a hotel?"

Rachel giggles and reaches for the blanket at the end of the bed, pulling it over herself. He's having none of that. He rolls onto his side and slips his hand beneath it, coming to rest on her breast again. She closes her eyes and lets out a breath as he runs his thumb lightly over her nipple. She's so fucking ready for him and he can't do anything about it.

"Yes," she says. He looks very accomplished, and she realizes that he's misunderstood her. "Yes, it's too late to send her to a hotel."

He palms her breast and grinds himself against her thigh. "Can _we_ get a hotel room?"

She rests her hand over his and then pulls it away from her body. "We can...we can control ourselves."

"Speak for yourself," he grumbles. "I'm so fucking hard right now."

"I haven't had sex in nine months."

"Well, fuck," he says with a laugh. "You need this worse than I do." She laughs and covers her face with the blanket, and he reaches for her shirt, handing it to her. "Put this on. _Now_."

"You're not going to argue?" she asks, amused.

"No," he says. She looks at him and he smirks as he runs his hand lightly over her stomach, just below her navel. "Because when I do get to fuck you, I want all nine months of that pent up sexual frustration coming out of you, and you _can't_ do that with my mom in the next room."

He feels her tremble beneath his palm.

She sits up to pull her shirt over her head, then pushes him onto his back and slings one leg over his, running her hand down his chest. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Jesus fuck.

"You need to go to sleep," he says gruffly. She laughs and leans down to kiss him. He can feel the heat between her thighs against his hip. "Seriously. Go to sleep. And I might need your barrier of pillows tonight."

She laughs again and hops off the bed, leaves the room and heads for the bathroom.

He wasn't joking.

* * *

He wakes up with a girl in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, his first thought isn't how to get her to leave.

Actually, he's thinking of how to make her stay.

Thing is? He doesn't need any lie or trick or anything. He realizes that she knows who he is, and she wants him anyway. Maybe because of that.

And she's waking up and her big brown eyes are blinking at him, and he kisses the tip of her nose.

"'Morning," she says quietly. He pulls her closer, not caring that he's hard again (still?) and she can definitely feel that against her hip. "I love your mother, but how quickly do you think we can get her to leave."

"Goddamn, Rachel," he says, and she laughs softly, burying her face in his chest. "You're in so much trouble as soon as we're alone."

She pulls herself away from him, sits up and straightens out her top. She drops a kiss to his lips, then stands. She walks to the door (he watches her the whole time; can't help but) and stops when her hand is on the doorknob.

"Can't wait."

She laughs as she leaves the room, his groan following her down the hall.

* * *

Aviva doesn't overstay her welcome, by any means, but when 11:00 rolls around and they're long done breakfast and everything is cleaned up and Puck's living room is put back together and she's still sitting there, chatting away, Puck's pretty sure he's ready to kick her ass out the door.

Literally.

Rachel's phone rings and it's her dad, so she goes into the bedroom to take the call, and Puck takes that fucking golden opportunity to nudge his mother out of his goddamn apartment.

"Mom!" he barks. She startles and looks at him like he's crazy. "I'm gonna lay it out for you real simple."

"What are you talking about, Noah?" she says, shaking her head.

"Look, lady." He leans down so his hands are resting on the table across from her and she's eye level. "Couples fight. And then there's this thing called makeup sex, and it's fucking awesome. And Rachel and I? We had a fight, and since you were fucking squatting on my couch, I didn't get to cash in on the _only_ good thing about having a fight." She's looking at him disapprovingly. "You understand?"

"You know, I don't think Rachel would appreciate you sharing such a personal detail. And also, don't talk to your mother that way. Noah, your language is just repulsive."

"Save the lecture," he mumbles. "Mom, you _know_ I love you, but you gotta _go_. You don't even understand."

She sighs, smiles and shakes her head. "If it were any other girl..." she says, not bothering to finish her thought.

Yeah, he knows how much she loves Rachel.

"Thank you," he breathes out. "I love you, mom."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I have to pick Hannah up by 2:30 anyway."

He hugs her. A full blown hug.

That's when Rachel walks back into the room.

"Mom has to go," he says, like it pains him that the woman's leaving, like all three of them don't know exactly what's going to happen the minute she leaves.

"Oh," Rachel says, dropping her phone on the counter. (She made a point of turning it to silent as soon as she hung up with her dad.) "Well, it was great having you."

"It was so good to see you," Aviva says, pulling Rachel into a hug. "You've made this apartment so much more homey, you know that? Before, it was an absolute wreck. You know, I think Noah has needed your influence in his life in a lot of areas." Rachel laughs and glances at him, and he's rolling his eyes. "Now, if you could only get him to stop cursing."

"I'll see what I can do," Rachel says. She watches Noah grab his mother's bag, then help her pull it onto her shoulder.

"You want me to walk you to the car?" he asks. Rachel smiles from his side, wraps her arm around his waist.

"No. I'll be fine. You just stay here. I'm sure I can find my way," she says, sharing a private smile with her son.

He has honestly (_seriously_) never loved her more.

She says her goodbyes again, that she'll call when she gets home, then she's out the door.

As soon as it's closed, Puck grabs Rachel and pushes her up against it, and his lips are on hers.

"I thought...Fuck," he says, groaning when he slips his hand into her shirt and realizes she's not wearing a bra. "I thought she'd never leave."

"Me too," she breathes out.

She angles her hips, desperate for more already, and he kisses her hard, letting his tongue delve into her mouth. She moans and fists the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck. His hands find her thighs, lifting her up and urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. God, she feels so good already and they're still wearing all their clothes.

He manages, with some difficulty, to pull off her shirt without dropping her, and she arches her back when her shoulder blades come in contact with the cold door behind her.

"Bedroom," she breathes out, running her hand over his head.

He ignores her, slips a hand between them and unbuttons her jeans. She can feel him, hard between her thighs, and she _needs_ them to be naked. Soon. He latches onto her neck, and she knows he's leaving a mark, but she can't find it in herself to care, just rolls her head to the side to give him better access.

"Fuck, baby, you...god, you make me crazy," he breathes out between kisses to her neck and collarbone, his hands firmly planted on her ass.

"Noah, the bedroom. _Please_," she manages.

He pulls away from her and smirks wickedly. "Fine." He leans forward to kiss her, and she whimpers when he stops. "But only because I intend to fuck you against every flat surface in this place. Bed can be first."

He has to carry her because she has a little trouble walking after that comment.

* * *

However many hours later, they're laying together on a blanket on his living room floor, and she's tracing patterns on his chest as he drifts in and out of sleep.

She can't believe the turn this weekend took. They went from literally not speaking at all, to laying naked in his apartment. (She says _his apartment_, not just his room, because they've been everywhere, true to his word. He went down on her in the kitchen, despite her attempts to protest which, in his defense, were half-hearted at best. And she knows he's got plans for the shower later...)

"You're tickling me," he mumbles, and she doesn't stop what she's doing because she knows he's lying.

"Am not."

"What're you writing?"

"Nothing."

"No really," he says, tightening his hold on her. She looks up and his eyes are open, watching her. She kisses his jaw, right next to his chin, and he lets out a little noise from the back of his throat.

"My initials," she explains, continuing her cursive. "R." Her finger moves. "M." And again. "B."

"'S'your middle name?" he asks.

"Maria. Like West Side Story," she says with a smile. She feels the rumble of his laughter against her cheek. "You?"

"Don't have one."

"Noah, you have to have one."

"Named for my deadbeat dad. I don't use that shit," he says, and she's reminded again how much the man's departure affected him. She cups his chin, brings his lips to hers and kisses him gently.

They're quiet for a while, then she feels his fingertip moving across the small of her back. she can easily make out the letters _N_ and _P_ after he writes them a couple times, and she thinks she could scream, she's so happy in this exact moment.

"You're mine now," he says, his voice low as he speaks against her temple, then kisses her. "Branded you."

"The hickey wasn't enough?" she asks with a laugh, looking over just in time to see him grin lasciviously. "You're mine, too."

"Obviously. I'm the only one you've been banging for the better part of a day."

"Noah!" she cries, shoving at him as he laughs. "You're disgusting."

He chuckles against her hair. "Again. You're the one banging..."

"Stop," she insists quietly, watching as he grabs her hand and holds it against his chest. "Noah?"

"Hmm."

She speaks quietly, because she's really not sure how he's going to react to this. She thinks he's satisfied enough, there are enough endorphins running through him or whatever, that he might just _not_ freak out.

"Is it crazy that I'm falling in love with you?"

He tries really, really hard not to get tense. He was not expecting any use of the 'L' word whatsoever until _way_ down the line.

And despite the lie brought them together, he wants to be honest with Rachel about everything.

"Yes."

"Oh," she says. She's biting her lip in this adorable way, and he kisses her. "Does that scare you?"

He laughs a little bit. "I'm fucking terrified."

She fucking _smiles_. "That's okay, you know."

"Is it?" he asks, and she nods. "Good."

"Maybe you can fall in love with me too," she says quietly, trailing her finger down his chest toward his belly button.

Know what? That actually doesn't sound so bad.

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "Alright."

* * *

So here's the problem with banging your new girlfriend's roommate once upon a time: You can't go to your new girlfriend's apartment.

And here's the problem with your new girlfriend being a total school nerd: If you can't go to her apartment, she'll refuse to go to yours when she has school work to do.

Well, fuck.

"Come over," he says seriously as soon as she picks up the phone. "Please, Rachel."

"You're begging now?" she asks laughingly. His texts throughout the day had gone from suggestive, to demanding, to downright filthy. (She didn't really hate any of them.) But begging? She hadn't expected this.

"Yes! We're supposed to be all about sex right now. You're depriving me of my right as the dude you just started seeing."

"That's absolutely the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she states. He doesn't realize that she's actually in her car on her way to his place. "I'll see you tomorrow after my private lesson, alright? Like we talked about."

"But, baby, I'm turned on _now_." He's practically whining. She thinks it's almost cute. "Can't you blow off homework and, you know, blow me instead?"

Not so cute anymore. She considers turning the car around. He's just _such_ an ass.

But, after all, there's a reason she got into her car in the first place. What can she say? She went a long time without and then had a full two days (he convinced her, though it didn't take much, to skip classes on Monday) of amazing physical intimacy and...well, he's awoken a sleeping giant, as the saying goes. By Monday evening, he was joking that her sexual appetite rivaled his.

Now it's Wednesday night and she hasn't seen him since Tuesday morning, and that just doesn't seem right.

And that sleeping giant? Well, Rachel's fairly certain that sleeping giant is just a little bit of a vixen. (And she means that in a good way.)

"Why don't you just think about me until we can see each other?" she suggests in this voice she's already learned he loves. She hears the breath he takes and smiles to herself. She checks her lip gloss in the rear view mirror as she pulls to a stop in the visitor's parking spot at his building.

"You're a fucking tease," he grumbles.

"Am I?" she asks. "I'll make it up to you."

"Goddamn. I thought the point of having a girlfriend was so that I wouldn't have to..."

"Do not finish that sentence."

She holds the phone tightly against her chest as she knocks at his apartment door.

"Fuck. Someone's here. I can't..."

"Answer it," she tells him.

"Baby, you do not want me answering the door right now," he says, and she has a very hard time not giggling at him. She shakes her head and knocks again. "Jesus fucking..."

The door swings open and he stares at her for a second.

"You called me your girlfriend." Her arms are around him and he's pulling her into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.

"Fuckin' right I did," he says, pulling his lips away from her neck so he can smirk at her. He looks her up and down and sees what she's wearing. Jacket? That's gotta go. He starts unbuttoning it, kissing her as he does so. "Now do your part."

She actually laughs and shrugs her coat off, toes off her shoes and wraps her arms around his neck. They make it as far as the couch before his pants are at his ankles and his hand is up her skirt.

And because she's some kind of wanton woman when she's with him, she angles her hips against his hand and tugs at his ear with her teeth. "You don't want me to blow you?"

Fucking hell. You see what he's dealing with? Who knew all this sexual energy could come out of this tiny woman? And she's all his. He tugs down her panties and flips up her skirt, licking his lips, and he watches her literally tremble.

"Later."

* * *

They never did get around to (as he calls it)_ De-Rachelifying_ his apartment. He's really damn happy about that, because it means that her suitcase is still sitting in his room full of clothes, and when she tries to tell him at midnight that she has to go, she has absolutely no excuse.

They stroll into pop culture class together, and it's their review day before their final next week, so Rachel tells him that she wants them to not sit together, because she needs to focus, and whatever flirtations he's no doubt tempted to engage in, she wants no part of.

So he sits behind her.

Before the teacher even comes into the room, Puck leans forward and rests his hand on Rachel's shoulder, letting his thumb move slowly at the nape of her neck, and she takes a deep breath.

"Can I borrow a pen?" he asks. She lets out a huff and turns towards him.

"You have a pen."

"This one's black. I want a blue one." He tries to smile, just to charm her, but she rolls her eyes at him and hands him a blue pen, then fixes her eyes on the front of the room again.

It's very clear she has no idea what he's doing. He's watching her, and she's very serious about her test review. Her notes are colour coded, and her textbook is highlighted, and it is very clear that she is going to ignore him throughout this whole class.

Which actually bodes well for this awesome (no, seriously) plan of his.

And turns out that Rachel's crazy obsessive organization and note taking works in his favour, because when they study together for the class, he gets to use all her aids (girl has _flash cards_) and didn't have to do anything to really prepare himself.

He does cook her dinner as a thank you.

"You know, we're going to have to lie for as long as we're together," she says as they lay in his bed the night before their final.

"Just to mom."

She turns in his arms, pulling the sheets tighter around herself. (Yeah, he checks; can't see anything.) "No. If my dads meet your mom and start talking..."

"Shit," he says, laughing softly. "Good thing we're fuckin' awesome liars, then."

"That sounds terrible."

He pulls her close, forcing her to sling her leg over his hip. "Nah. We're good. What's the difference anyway, if we're together?" She lets out a short sigh, like she wants to argue him, but can't. "Aren't you glad I forgot to break up with you?"

She really, really is.

* * *

She lets him sit next to her for their exam, but says that if he even attempts to copy off her test, well, the results will not be favourable.

Yes, those are her exact words. He doesn't really know what that means, but he doesn't really want to find out.

She turns her back to him, leans over to get something out of her bag, and he leaves the pen she lent him last week on her desk.

When she looks at her desk again, she smiles and picks up the pen. "What's this?" she asks.

He shrugs, leans over to kiss her. "One less lie," he says quietly.

Her hand comes up to rest on his face just as their professor walks into the classroom.

"Are you being sweet?" she whispers.

"Trying." He pecks her lips one last time before moving back into his own space.

"It's working," she tells him, casting a sideward glance as their tests land on their desks. "Good luck, Noah."

"You too, babe."

"I don't need luck. I'm well prepared." He pats her thigh beneath the table and winks at her. She gives him this adorable little smile, squeezes his hand before she peels it off her leg. "But thank you."

So yeah, maybe he'll fall in love with her too.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
